Storm Coming
by Talitha Kumi
Summary: A mysterious sailor is murdered just outside the NCIS building. The team finds him but are too late to save his life. As he slowly slips away he tells them about a high profile murder, and a secret society known only as The Family. Then with his last breaths he whispers " protect her..." But it's not going to be that simple. The Family plays for keeps.
1. Running from Fate

_Summary: A protection detail quickly turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse. When the bullets start flying will Tony and Ziva be able to protect their charges? Will they be able to protect each other...A sequel to Anguish._

_Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of CBS. Any copyright infringement was not intentional. Any characters that resemble people living or dead were also unintentional. _

_Please help me to become a better writer by leaving reviews. Many thanks enjoy. _

Terror. Sheer unbridled, unrestrained terror filled his chest as he strode rapidly down the dark, dirty, street. It was like a scene from some bad horror film, the condensation reflecting the harsh glow of the orange lights as he passed by. But this wasn't a horror film. This was real.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched down into his pea coat. The heavy, frigid air pressed against him like a blanket, making his breath fog.

It was all too surreal. He shouldn't be scared of them. He was a petty officer first class, for crying out loud.

He knew he was only fooling himself though. Neither his rank nor his training would help him. Neither would save him. He wasn't even sure the Navy could help him. The people he had gotten involved with knew no fear. They would settle this debt they would silence him, once and for all.

Still he had to try. If anyone could help him, if anyone could stop this, and save her, it was the Navy.

He turned a corner and the Navy Yard loomed out of the fog. Relief spread through him and he walked faster. The sound of his footsteps reverberated off the close buildings. Maybe he could make it. Maybe he would survive this after all.

But then he saw him; a single silhouette of a man, standing half hidden in the shadows of a building just beyond the gate. There was a baseball bat in his hand. He was only one. There would be others.

His relief evaporated like smoke as his eyes scanned the nearby buildings. There was another man, and another, still a third appeared on the roof, perched easily against the downward slope. All of them were armed. They watched him, silently, as he approached and passed by. Not a one of them moved. They were savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat taunting a mouse.

Passing through the gate would be sheer suicide at this point. He froze just before the gate staring longingly at the familiar outlines of buildings and ships. The smell of industry; of metal, and oil, and sea brine, filled his nose. He inhaled it deeply, relishing it for what would probably be the last time. The hum of electricity filled his ears. It was strange noting these minute, but treasured details. The treasured details that had made up his life before it had gone crazy. Before he had gone crazy.

He could feel their eyes fixed on him through the darkness, waiting for him to make a move; waiting for him to make his play.

He flexed his toes, feeling the road through the soles of his track shoes. Every muscle in his body was strung tight. Every sense aware. The air had a strange tension about it as each party waited to see what the other would do. Then he turned and he ran. He ran for all he was worth.

As he ran he thought. He thought of the day when he had made the biggest mistake of his life

He'd been an idiot to get involved. An idiot to think he could get escape; that he could get away from it. Now they were after him. They would find him eventually. They always found the ones they searched for. All he could do was run. Run as far away and as fast as he could. Lead them away from her.

All he had wanted, when he had signed up, was to provide a better life for her. Be worthy of her. But that had been before. That had been before things had gotten serious. That had been before things had turned bad, and before he had gotten in so deep that he couldn't get out. Not without forfeiting his life and his life was what they wanted. His life and hers.

She wasn't involved in this. She never had been and would never be involved in this. She was too good, to honest, to pure to be involved in something like this. Still they would take her life because, indirectly, she was involved; through him. They would take her life because she was important to him. She mattered to him. She was the only one who really mattered in the end. They could take his car, his house, his job, even his life. As long as she was safe none of that would matter. But they would take her life to. Just to teach him, and anyone else who would betray them a lesson.

That was their mantra, and their creed, one did not betray ones family.

He turned sharply down a corner and the naval yard once again loomed before him, this time blocked by a high fence with barbed wire on the top. He must have come full circle. He sprinted towards it, climbing quickly. He could hear their shouts and the sounds of their pursuit behind him. They weren't far.

He dropped down, landing hard, and then was on his feet and running again, albeit a bit slower. He had sprained his ankle in the fall and it hurt to run. Still he pressed on. He had to. For her.

If he could just find help, maybe he could stop this. Maybe he could survive. That was when the shot rang out and searing pain spread through his chest. He crumbled to the ground, clutching at his breast. Blood, his blood, spread rapidly from beneath his fingers.

The thought registered that he had been shot. He was dying. He would never see her again.

His eyes fell on a multistoried building just a few hundred meters away. A sign out front read Naval Criminal Investigative Services. NCIS. If anyone in the Navy could help him, it was these guys. He had to get to them. But he didn't think he could move.

Then the door opened and several people streamed out. They must have heard the gunshot. They saw him and came running towards him, weapons drawn. They were too late. He was dying. He could feel his life slowly trickling away. There was no saving him now. But maybe, just maybe they could save her. Save her and end this.

The first person to reach him was a tall man with platinum gray hair. If it hadn't been for the gun in his hand and the look in his eyes as he crouched near him, the petty officer would have thought he was the night janitor.

"Tony, Ziva, check the area. McGee call an ambulance, this man is still alive." The older man barked the authority in his voice unquestionable. This man was clearly the team lead and definitely not the night janitor. This was the man who would help him.

With slow sluggish movements the petty officer reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was the only thing he had to offer.

"Try not to move, son" the gray haired man said with surprising gentleness, his big hand stopping the petty officers movements.

He was too weak to resist. He laid still, tears filling his eyes, as he gasped for air. His breathing was wet and ragged in his ears. "Please…" he croaked. The sounded of his own voice was strange to him.

"Please….. you hav…have…t…to…'elp me…." He was shaking and panting and the pain was so bad it almost eliminated everything else. The only thing that kept him tethered were thoughts of her.

"Help is on the way. You just hold on sailor, that's an order." The man replied he set aside his gun and pressed his hands over the wound in his chest.

He swallowed and swallowed again. It was growing more and more difficult to breath. "Please…please…you…you…have t'…to…ke…ke…keep her safe. You have to…." He stammered, his voice gurgling.

"Keep who safe?"

"Her…her…n…na…name is Chi….Chiara Jen…Jensen…. The…they will try t…to kill her….Please…she…she's m…my wife…please…pro...protect her…." A small bubble of blood formed at the corner of his mouth. His lips were stained with it. He didn't have much longer. He knew it.

"Who? Who's going to try and kill her?" the man asked urgently.

"The…the family…." It was all the wounded man could manage. He didn't have enough life left to fully explain. Instead he slowly reached down and pulled the one thing he had that could help from the waistline of his jeans. With numb fingers he pressed the gun into the man's hand.

"Evidence…" he mumbled, his vision starting to go dark at the edges.

"Evidence of what, son?" the man asked.

"Murder…."

"Who'd they kill?"

He just shook his head. It was getting harder and harder to focus. "Clopper Lake…Northeast end…. I'm sorry….never meant to… hurt anyone…."

"I know son…I know…can you tell me who did this…?" The man who had tried to save his life asked.

But the petty officer could only mumble incoherently. The man holding him shook him slightly and he forced his eyes open. The world looked strange through dying eyes. Everything was brighter, and louder and yet surrounded by a strange fog.

"Where is Chiara? We'll protect her don't you worry…." It was the best the man could do. He probably knew from experience that he was beyond saving.

"Douthat State Park…number seven…."He managed to mumble, closing his eyes. It was too much effort to keep them open. He lay there and thought of her. He dreamt of the life they could have had.

It seemed odd to him that dying didn't hurt. It was supposed to hurt wasn't it? But it didn't not in the least little bit. Not as long as he focused on her face. Her memory was so beautiful that it could have been real. He wanted to reach out and touch it. But he couldn't. His arms wouldn't obey him. He should have at least been able to reach out, shouldn't he? But he couldn't.

He was tired so very tired. More tired than he could ever remember being. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her in his arms and stay that way forever. Maybe he would do just that… it sounded so nice. So peaceful. No more running. No more fear.

"I love you, my sweet." He whispered.

They were the last words he would ever speak.


	2. Yellow Tape

_Summary: A protection detail quickly turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse. When the bullets start flying will Tony and Ziva be able to protect their charges? Will they be able to protect each other...A sequel to Anguish._

_Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of CBS. Any copyright infringement was not intentional. Any characters that resemble people living or dead were also unintentional._

_Please help me to become a better writer by leaving feedback and reviews. They are very helpful and loved. I take the time to read and personally reply to each one. _

Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs didn't like feeling helpless. He was a man of action, not a man of circumstance.

He hated that there was nothing he could do to save the young sailors life. Yet kept his hands pressed against the bloody wound that tore a hole through the young man's chest and kept talking to him until, finally, he slipped away.

His last words, "I love you my sweet", stirred the dust that were his memories and for the briefest moment he could see his wife and his daughter. He could hear those same words passing over his lips. Just like this young man they would be amongst the last words he would ever speak to them. Had he known that, he would have never have left them. He never would have said goodbye. For him the memory was bitter sweet.

"Boss, the ambulance is here…. They want to talk with you," McGee said from just behind his right shoulder. The sound of his voice, strangely calm and collected, pulled Gibbs from his memories. He rose the small half smile on his lips fading as he gazed, momentarily, at the blood on his hands.

He squared away his emotions and turned towards the tech, his eyes traveling immediately past him and settling on the paramedic who stood at his shoulder. "You're too late. He's already dead." He said cutting straight to the point.

The man fidgeted a bit under Gibbs scrutiny. He was a large, heavy set Asian man with the name John stitched into his jacket. Gibbs could tell by the look in his eyes that he had seen death before and that nothing made losing a client any easier. He could also see the war raging in his eyes. This man had certainly seen death before. But that didn't make losing a client any easier. This man wasn't in his profession for the money. He genuinely wanted to help people.

Gibbs respected that. He softened a bit. "We'll handle it from here John. This is a murder scene now….." He said reaching out to shake his hand, then thinking better of it. His hands were still coated in blood after all.

"Do you want us to help you bring him into autopsy?" John asked.

"No. You can give your report to McGee, and then get back to your route. We'll handle it from here." Gibbs replied, pointing at the tech.

The man nodded and headed towards McGee who was busily processing the scene. In the meantime Gibbs knelt next the man again and gently closed his eyes, taking time to retrieve his wallet from one of his pockets.

He was going through it when Tony and Ziva came jogging up. "No trace of 'em boss." Senior field agent Anthony DiNozzo reported.

He nodded, accepting that. "You two start processing the scene. McGee I want you to find whatever information we have on Petty Officer First Class Jacob Jensen, and his wife Chiara Jensen." He said reading from the man's blood stained ID.

"His wife, boss? Do you think she might be responsible for this?" McGee questioned handing his camera over to Tony.

"I don't know McGee. What I do know is that this sailor seemed to think she was important. He died keeping her safe. "

"Keeping her safe from what?"

Gibbs leveled his best why-are-you-still-here look at the techy.

"Right. On it Boss." McGee responded, turning away.

Gibbs just shook his head slightly, a slight smile hinting at his lips, as he watched the young tech walk away.

His smile quickly faded though as he returned his gaze once more towards the dead man. "I'm sorry we couldn't save you sailor. But rest assured we'll keep her safe. "Gibbs reassured and for a moment he lingered there. For a moment he understood how Ducky felt and why he spoke the way he did to the deceased.

Then he was on his feet and moving. They had a long night ahead of them, and a lot of work to do.


	3. A Well-Oiled Machine

_Summary: A protection detail quickly turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse. When the bullets start flying will Tony and Ziva be able to protect their charges? Will they be able to protect each other...A sequel to Anguish._

_Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of CBS. Any copyright infringement was not intentional. Any characters that resemble people living or dead were also unintentional._

_Please help me to become a better writer by leaving feedback and reviews. They are very helpful and loved. I take the time to read and personally reply to each one._

"What've we got McGee?" Gibbs asked as he strode into the bull pen carrying a to-go tray of fresh coffee.

"Petty Officer First Class Jacob Michael Jensen. Twenty-seven. United States Navy. He's had a successful career so far. He's and intelligence operator aboard the U.S.S Essex. He was recently recommended for a promotion. His commanding officers all say he was a hard-working man and a good sailor. Well-liked by most of the men on his ship.…. He graduated from UCLA with a degree in engineering, and was immediately recruited into the Navy. Clean record, with the exception of a few minor traffic violations. "McGee said accepting the cup of coffee gratefully. They had been up most of the night processing the scene of the man's murder. They had only been able to go home and catch a few hours of sleep before coming back for another full day of work.

Gibbs nodded, looking his gaze fixed on the large screen where McGee had pulled up and displayed the man's information.

"His wife's even more of a saint than he is," DiNozzo chimed in from just behind him. Gibbs glanced at him then returned his gaze to the screen where the woman's information was already displayed.

A handsome woman with sun darkened olive skin and strong Mediterranean features and a supermodel-worthy smile stared back at him.

"Chiara Aiello Jensen, twenty-four, late wife of the Petty Officer. She's the head of the local charitable works society, regularly attends church, and even volunteers at the local senior care center…." McGee started.

"Is she here?"

"What...Erm, no boss, no she isn't."

"Why not?"

"Well we…erm….we…," McGee stammered, quailing under Gibb's burning look.

"Tony, Ziva find her, bring her in. McGee I want you to requisition the on-base security tapes, we're going to find out who did this. "

Like a well-oiled machine his team snapped into action. His two field agents grabbed their gear and headed for the elevator, clipping on their side arms. Gibbs allowed himself a small smile as he watched them walk away. The partners turned husband and wife team were nothing if not efficient. He'd been worried at first having two of his agents married. But the worry had been short lived. If anything they worked better together now that they were married. Unlikely pair though they might be.

Meanwhile McGee typed furiously at his computer his brow furrowed with concentration. Gibbs knew he would find the tapes and requisition them. He would probably find out which guards were responsible for monitoring the tapes, and where the tapes had been made and manufactured as well. McGee embodied efficiency. Always one step ahead.

Ducky and Palmer would be nearly done with the autopsy. The young medical aid was learning quickly from his far more experienced, wise, father like figure. They also worked well together.

Abby in the meantime would be down in her laboratory-lair figuring out every intimate detail about that gun. She would not only when it was last fired, but where it had come from, who had last handled it and if they had any pets. That was sweet, wonderful, hype active Caf-Pow addicted, Abby.

This was his team. These were his allies. They would find out who had committed this murder and they would take him down. Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not lead a team of sluff-off's. His team may not be perfect. They may have their oddities; their unique quirks. But they were, fearless in the face of adversity. Ruthless when it came to defending the innocent, and catching the perpetrators of heinous crime. Merciless when it came to meting out justice. They were, to a man, the most efficient, hard-working, capable team a senior field agent could ask for. They were NCIS and they were his team.

* * *

Ducky looked up when the door to the autopsy room swished open.

"Ah Jethro, just in time. Come see what I've found" he said pleasantly, his intelligent, educated, voice cutting through the soft classical music playing in the background.

"Jimmy, the music if you please," Ducky requested.

"What've ya got for me Duck?" Gibbs asked coming to stand next to the older gentlemen.

"This young man had a rough go of it I'm afraid. See these marks right here…" he pointed with a scalpel at a wash of deep purple and blue bruises that spread across the dead sailors ribcage and side.

"Beaten, Duck?"

"Yes I'm afraid so. The damage is quite severe. It continues on his backside as well. It's amazing this young man was able to function at all. He wasn't just beaten up Jethro. He was tormented to within an inch of his life." Ducky said looking down at the young man with profound empathy.

"By who, Duck?" Gibbs asked, following Ducky to the other side of the table.

"We don't know, at least not yet. Abby is working on it in her lab."

Gibbs nodded and turned to go.

"It looks like an initiation rite of some sort Jethro…." Ducky called, stopping the other man mid stride. He turned back, narrowing his blue-gray eyes.

"Yes. I was just getting to that. You really should learn some patience Jethro….."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a patient man. Still he respected the medical examiner more than most.

Suitably chastised Gibbs moved back towards the table coming to stand next to the older gentlemen.

"What've you got for me Duck?" He asked surprisingly contrite, fixing Ducky with his best _I'm-listening_ look.

Ducky wasn't fooled for an instant, but he pursed his lips and tolerated Gibb's ill-concealed impatience.

"Look here….See this mark…." The ME said pointing to an oddly formed mark on the sailor's chest, just over where his heart was.

"I almost nicked it when I was performing my evaluation. Luckily I saw it in time. "He continued, while Gibbs scrutinized it with narrowed eyes.

The skin was red and inflamed, the mark seared into his flesh, in an odd design. It appeared to be fairly recent.

"Is that what I think it is, Duck?

"I'm afraid so… and look here… the marks on his wrists only confirmed my fears. This sailor was bound and branded before he died."

"Do we know what it means?"

"I'm afraid not. It's certainly not like anything I've ever seen before, in all my study of histories and societies both ancient and modern. It's not Masonic that's for sure, though some branches of that particular sect did require their initiates to receive a brand to show their true faith. That practice has since been disavowed and is no longer a part of mainstream Freemasonry. There are probably some fanatical sects that still practice the art of branding, albeit quietly. "

"It's also not the mark of any gang that we know of. Some of them also are known to require branding. Tattooing has become the more popular practice in today's day and age amongst religious fanatics and the large groups of imbalanced, unguided, youth that call themselves gangs."

"Did you know, Jethro, that branding is considered amongst the ultimate acts of courage amongst the followers of these groups? They essentially require one to burn the symbol of his faith into himself. It is considered even more of an act of courage, bravery, and commitment if the person interested in joining can do it without screaming. Of course very few can. Interestingly enough most gang members and initiates don't ever receive brands. Most don't have the stomach for it." It's incredibly painful you know?" Ducky said, sinking easily into his knowledge of history, not even realizing that he had spiraled off onto a tangent. It wasn't until he looked up and saw that Jethro had quietly slipped away, that he trailed off into silence.

With his hands in his trouser pockets he regarded the sailor on his table with a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

"What is it that drove you to have a rod of flaming hot steel pressed into your chest? What is it that drove you to endure so much pain? So much unfathomable agony." Ducky questioned the man with soft reverence. He stood for a moment regarding the still, lifeless form on his table. Then abruptly he moved to his side, taking hold of the white sheet that would cover him.

"Well in any event...You'll tell us soon enough." He said pulling the sheet up to cover his face.

"Mr. Palmer. Tchaikovsky if you please." Duck said after he had washed his hands and moved to his desk.

Palmer, who had been watching the interaction silently as he worked on sterilizing Ducky's tools, straightened with a slight half smile. Right away Doctor," He said pleasantly and soon the sounds of violins singing the third movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto filled the autopsy room.


	4. Memoires of a dead man

_Summery: A protection detail turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, Disney, the Three Bears, Snow White, Goldie Locks or the Clampetts (or any other famous ficticious person mentioned with this chapter).  
_

_A/N: I LIVE! To all my readers, I am so, so, so sorry it has taken me so long to post this update. With mid-terms, and Thanksgiving, and now finals it's been crazy! I promise as soon as my university stops trying to eat my brain, I will be more diligent about posting! Thanks for your patience and understanding! I hope you enjoy this chapter! I spent quite a bit of time on it. I figure its the least I can do! Leave your comments and reviews. I love to hear them! Thanks again! - Talitha  
_

* * *

"Ah, the great outdoors…. Where a boy becomes a man. Where he has the chance to get in tune with his more primal instincts. One with the elements…. Breath it in Zi…breath it in," Tony said opening the door and stepping out of the park rangers Land Rover and right into a patch of mud.

"Smell what, Tony, your stinky feet?" She laughed as she circled the vehicle.

"Ha ha very funny. You won't be laughing when Yogi the bear goes rabid and starts to gnaw on you." He grumbled and grimaced as he pulled his foot free.

"Who is Yogi the bear?" she questioned, pausing next to a well-worn wooden sign that marked the trail head.

"Never mind Zi….never mind" he said shaking his head, as the park ranger approached them. He was a tall man with an average build and impossibly dark skin. "The cabin is about seven miles down this trail. The trail will fork about three miles in, make sure you take the left fork. The cabin is just down that way…..Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asked his voice thick and heavily accented.

"We've got it, thanks Smokey" Tony said in a tone that was probably meant to be funny.

Unfortunately the man was not amused. He frowned at Tony and suddenly seemed to grow larger and more imposing.

"Manners Tony...Please pardon my husband, he was knocked on the head a lot as a child" Ziva exclaimed smacking him in the arm hard enough to make him wince.

That disarmed the man and he grinned, his teeth bright white and straight against his skin. "No trouble ma'am. I'll wait here with the jeep and radio if I hear or see any trouble." He replied chuckling at Tony's wounded expression.

Ziva smiled and slinging her backpack across her shoulders started down the trail, leaving Tony and the ranger alone. Sticking out his chin slightly, Tony gave the man a once over very clearly communicating that he thought he could take the man, and that Ziva was his.

The man just rolled his eyes and very deliberately pointed to the wedding band on his finger.

Slightly mollified Tony made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat and hurried after Ziva, the man's booming laughter following him.

* * *

"What did you do to him?" Ziva questioned, glancing over her shoulder as he approached.

"Nothing, I just showed him who was boss, is all. You know taught him a lesson." He quipped, a little winded from the jog up the trail.

She snorted derisively "Tony that man is from Ghana. He's probably seen more fighting in his lifetime than you've seen in a month as a special agent."

"it's foolish man who underestimates his opponents," he said quoting something she had told him once long ago.

"Exactly Tony. You should not underestimate him," she shot back, not about ready to have her own doctrine turned against her.

Not yet ready to admit defeat Tony prepared a rebuttal, but Ziva silenced him with a raised hand, her whole body tense, in a way he had come to associate with her Ninja mode.

He nodded moving in time with her as she crested a slight rise in the trail.

Looking back at him she held a solitary finger to her lips and lay down so that most of her was hidden behind the crest of the trail.

Frowning he holstered his side arm and maneuvered so that he was lying next to her. "Zi…." He started when he didn't see anything.

But again she silenced him pointing carefully at a nearby cluster of bushes.

His frown deepened as he scrutinized the scrub and it was moment before he was able to make out what she was able to pick out in an instant.

A stag, with a rack of horns that spoke of years of experience and wisdom, watched the trail, warily, from the brush. Slowly, his ears flicking, he ventured out into the clearing between the brush and the two agents, a doe and several young fawn following after him.

For a moment the two, battle hardened, agents watched the young family as they made their way across the clearing. For the briefest of moments all the scars and the terrible things they had seen, ceased to exist, in the wake of this pure innocence.

Then the deer wandered into another clump of bushes, disappearing from sight, and the momentary spell was broken.

"Cute," Tony remarked climbing to his feet. He had to resist the urge to make Bambi joke's powerfully.

Ziva followed, accepting his proffered hand, though she didn't really need it, and smiled "It seems the world is not only filled of dark places" she remarked, starting down the trail.

"It would seem so," he agreed, softly, watching her as she walked and thinking in the safety and privacy of his mind, that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that he was lucky to have her.

"Hurry up slow dope" she quipped, noticing he hadn't followed her up the trail.

"Hurrying. And, it's slow, poke Zi. Slow poke" he laughed, jogging to catch up to her.

She just rolled her eyes at him and together they continued down the trail.

Seven miles later, hot, sweaty, and foot sore, the two agents rounded a bend in the trail and found themselves at the end of the journey.

"I told you to wear your boots," Ziva said archly, but Tony wasn't paying any attention. His gaze was fixed on the cabin.

It was small, rustic affair, set back a few feet from the trail itself. With its small four poster porch, steeply slanted roof, and quaint windows it could have been something out of a fairytale… or a Thomas Kincaid painting.

The smoke rising gently from the cobblestone chimney, lacy windows curtains that danced in the light breeze and the smell of home-made apple pie didn't help.

"Pinch me I think I've arrived at Grandma's house" Tony murmured taking in the picturesque scene, and wincing when Ziva did just that.

"I didn't mean literally," he muttered throwing her a dirty look as she ascended the stairs. She just smirked at him.

A soft, pleasant, soprano floated from just inside the open door, singing "Reflection," from Disney's Mulan.

"Quaint" Tony muttered "She cooks, she cleans, she lives in a cabin in the woods…all's were missing is the Three Little Bears, and we'd have Snow White."

Ziva frowned faintly looking confused. The Three Little Bears and Snow White had no relevance to each other. Brushing it off, she lifted her hand and rapped firmly on the screen door.

Abruptly the music stopped. All they could hear was the sound of running water. The silence dragged out for several long painful, seconds.

The two glanced at each other, and frowned. "NCIS…we're federal agents" Ziva called loudly, through the door.

Still nothing. No response of any kind.

Sharing another glance the two drew their weapons and, on the count of three, burst through the door.

In a routine they each knew by heart, the two agents split up. Ziva headed straight back towards the bedroom, while Tony went left towards the place where all the delicious smells were coming from.

The kitchen was a rustic as the outside of the cabin. Rough wood floors and rougher wood cabinets. A small, generator powered, ancient looking, icebox occupied the corner to the right of the door. The only real utility the place seemed to have, beside the rusty facet which ran steadily. Opposite that was a narrow door that could have been a pantry or an extra-large cupboard. In the far corner, close to the, small, scrubbed table was a recessed, cobblestone hearth. A cast iron pot bubbled gently over a merry fire. What looked and smelled suspiciously like apple cobbler cooled on the sill of the window over the sink.

Forget Goldie Locks and the Three Bears, he had stepped right into a scene out of Little House on the Prairie. The only thing missing was the Clampetts.

Frowning he walked to the sink, and with one finger, gingerly turned it off. "Nothing here!" he hollered, grimacing at the rust, and wiping his finger on his pants leg.

How anyone could live in such conditions was beyond him.

"What was that Tony?!" Ziva called from the next room.

Still eyeing the facet like he thought it might bite him, he turned to repeat what he had said only to be caught in the chest with a heavy duty, pan.

He staggered back with a grunt, his eyes widening, his gun clattering to the floor.

"Wait…!" he gasped holding up a hand against the next attack by the frying pan. But the short slight woman wielding it was beyond reason.

She hit him again, low and in the solar plexus and he doubled over, his eyes watering, clutching his stomach.

The woman hefted her frying pan and brought it up when a shot rang out hitting the frying pan and ricocheting off, with an earsplitting gong.

"Ziva…." Tony gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

His partner stood in the door her gun held up and ready. "Put down the frying pan," she said her voice low and dangerous.

The woman whirled, and for a moment there was an uneasy standoff as the woman and Ziva stared each other down.

Tony started to straighten and for the briefest moment Ziva's eyes flicked towards him.

It was all the distraction the woman needed.

She flung her frying pan with all her strength at the agent then darted right, going straight for Tony's gun.

Caught off guard Ziva recoiled instinctively, drawing her arms up to protect her face and upper body.

The woman fell to her knee's, fumbling with the gun for a moment then brought it around, aiming it first at one agent then the other.

"Don't move!" She yelled, her voice trembling.

Ziva brought her own pistol to bear, pointing it directly at the woman.

"Put it down!" Ziva yelled her voice commanding her whole frame conveyed lethal intent. She would kill the woman if she had too. At this range there was no way she could miss.

The woman shook her head, her eyes widening. She was trembling so badly that there was a risk she would discharge the weapon accidentally.

She pointed the gun at Ziva her hands shaking.

Tony watched warily, now fully straight, as the woman pointed the gun at his wife. Unwanted the memory of her lying in a hospital bed, near death, surfaced, and suddenly he was filled with unspeakable, unimaginable terror.

"Wait! Just wait!" He hollered raising his hands to shoulder height.

The woman whirled towards him, her eyes huge, the gun centered on his chest.

"D…don't … don't move…." The woman stammered.

He spread his hands to emphasize that he didn't have a weapon, lowering his shoulders slightly, trying to look as unimposing and as unthreatening as possible.

Ziva started to take a step forward but stopped when Tony shook his head slightly.

She paused, halfway through the doorway, lowering her SIG ever so slightly. She flicked her gaze worriedly from Tony to the woman and back again.

"Just take it easy all right. Nobody's going to hurt you," he reassured.

She frowned, craning her head back slightly the expression in her face one of pure disbelief.

"Who sent you?!" She demanded very aware of Ziva standing off to her right. Very aware of the agents gun focused on her.

"We're from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We're federal agents" he said taking a slight step forward.

The gun lifted a little in warning. "How do I know you're not the people who are trying to kill my husband?" she demanded. The naked fear evident in both her attractive, olive skinned, features, and in her rich soprano voice.

This woman matched the picture from the database so completely that it had to be Chiara Jensen. Unless the dead sailor's wife had a twin, in which case they were in serious trouble. His head hurt just thinking about it, and he was quick to dismiss it. It would not do to be distracted at the moment.

" We're not , okay, I need you to trust me on this one….If we were Agent David over there would have killed you long ago, even though you could kill me….." he said deliberately using her maiden name. They always did when in situations like these. Though they didn't happen very often, it was better to be safe than sorry. Love is a powerful force. In order to prevent someone from taking advantage of that love it was important that they never knew it existed.

There were always ways you could tell, of course. The furtive looks and subtle touches. Or the simple, familiarity with which two people interacted.

But they tried to keep it as understated as possible. It was safer that way.

"Tell her to lower her gun." The woman demanded dangerously.

"Now see that won't work very well…. Agent David really likes her gun…." He started and flinched as the woman fired a round just to the right of his leg.

For a house wife she had pretty good aim.

Ziva's gun came back up and she moved closer so that she was in direct line of sight to the woman, just a few feet from Tony. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes wide and worried.

He managed a half grimace half smile, before returning his attention to the woman. By now Ziva was well within ninja range. She could easily take the weapon, and looked to be contemplating doing just that.

"Don't come any closer. Or next time I'll shoot him. I swear I will," the woman said eyeing Ziva warily and backing away, out of Ninja range.

"Listen Chiara, We are federal agents, it is as Agent DiNozzo said. See…." Ziva spoke soothingly not even a slight hint of the panic she felt, evident in her voice. Moving slowly she pushed back her coat with her free hand, revealing her badge.

The woman looked at it and hesitated. "How do I know it's not fake?" she whispered.

"It's not. I promise. We're the good guys." Tony reassured, kneeling in front of her.

The gun lowered slightly as the woman looked from him to Ziva, than slowly but surely she lowered the gun to the floor and slid it away.

"How'd you know my name?" She whispered as both agents visibly relaxed. Ziva retrieved Tony's weapon and returned it to him before holstering her own.

"Your husband Jacob told us about you," he replied holstering his pistol and clambering to his feet. "He didn't mention that you have a mean backswing, though" he said managing a bit of good natured humor, even as he helped her to her feet.

The woman chuckled slightly, a frail, broken, slightly hysterical sound. "Tennis…." She explained.

"We can tell" Ziva commented guiding her to a chair in the living room.

"WE can't tell anything. I was the one that got hot in the stomach by a frying pan," he quipped

"Did Jacob say anything else?" Chiara questioned, interrupting their playful banter.

Tony's manner instantly sobered as he looked down at the woman who had only just recently tried to kill him.

"He told us to protect you," he said quietly watching as the woman's fragile composure crumbled and she began to cry, one hand covering her mouth.

"He's dead isn't he?" she wept, her thin frame shaking.

A look between the two agents was all it took, to confirm the woman's worse fears and she dissolved into hysterics.

"We are sorry for your loss," Ziva murmured, perching on the arm of the chair and gently stroking the woman's back. It was a show of tenderness that was becoming more and more frequent since she had married.

"How did he die?" she sniffed, her voice muffled, behind her hands.

"He was murdered…shot."

The woman looked up suddenly, fire in her dark eyes. "They killed him" she proclaimed sobering somewhat as anger replaced grief.

"Who?" Ziva asked taking her hand away, though she didn't move from the arm of the chair. She was also careful to keep her gun well out of the woman's reach. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Those people Jacob was working with! They're responsible for this."

"Do you know their names?" Tony chimed in from where he knelt just by her knee.

"No….. He didn't talk much about them. He only said that they would help us resolve all our problems, At least at first. But towards the end he became angry, withdrawn, depressed. It was almost like he didn't want to be around me anymore. He spent more and more time at work. I didn't know what to do. Than one day he came home and I had never seen him so scared. He told me I had to go away for a while. He rented this cabin for six months so that I…we… could have someplace to stay," she gestured at the surrounding walls.

"I knew something was up. But I knew better than to say anything. He never spoke about these people he was working with. Never told me what they did. What they made him do. He probably didn't want me to know. All's he ever said was that they were trying to help. But in the end, when he came home scared, I knew they had asked him to do something terrible. Worse still I knew he had done it…or at least played a part. I could tell by the way he acted. Bu the guilt and shame in his eyes," she frowned faintly pulling a locket from beneath her shirt and fingered it idly for a moment before sliding her thumbnail beneath the clasp, and opening it.

In it was a picture of the dead sailor and her sitting together on a beach, fingers intertwined, as she leaned against his legs. A classic engagement picture.

"He was always so scared I would leave him…. Always worrying about how we never had enough money or that we didn't live in a nice home," she said, her voice the soft, distant, murmur of memories.

"I come from a well off family, and he thought I would leave him to return to that life…." She shook her head, and made a soft, derisive noise.

"He never understood how much I loved him," she said in a near whisper. Slowly, her fingers moving automatically, she closed the locket and slid it back down her shirt.

Silence reigned for a long moment as the agents sat deep within their own thoughts. Then slowly, her fingers moving automatically, she closed the locket. The movement was enough to bring them all out of the fog of their memories, distant dreams, and even more distant thoughts.

"It's incredibly important that you tell us all you can about this 'family,'" Tony said his voice soft and gentle.

"Whatever it takes to make this right. I just want this to end." she said her voice heavy with defeat.

The two agents nodded slowly and stood, intent on giving the woman her space.

Tony headed back into the kitchen to douse the fire and retrieve some of her things, while Ziva went to check outside.

"Wait, "the woman called softly, halting Ziva halfway to the door. The Mossad turned NCIS agent looked back at her eyebrows raised a soft smile on her mouth.

"Did he =did Jacob- say anything else?" She asked,

"He said he loved you," DiNozzo replied, leaning against the kitchen door-frame.

"More than the entire world," she said with a half-smile as she rose and moved stiffly to the bathroom. The air was heavy with the weight of the woman's loss. Painful memories, love lost to early, and dreams unrealized, weighing heavily in the air.


	5. Judgments

_Summery: A protection detail turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Laura Croft or anything really... _

_A/N : Hello, all. I wanted to get another chapter up before finals. Wish me luck, yes? I probably won't update much over the course of the next week as most of my time will be spent with my nose buried in a text book. I shall endeavor to update this story over the course of the Christmas break but I can't make any promises, as I will be spending the holidays with family. _

_ In any case I wanted to personally thank everyone who has read this story and who has posted reviews. Thank you so much for your comments. They mean so much to me! As you know I welcome polite constructive criticism so please do feel free to leave comments. I respond to each personally. They help me to improve and to become a better writer, which is something I am always striving to do. _

_ I also wanted to give a brief nod to Laura Croft Tomb Raider :Cradle of Life from whom I got the idea for the advanced Ebola. Interestingly enough Ebola is not in fact contagious, as depicted in the movie. Hence why there are no precautionary measures taken in this chapter. _

_ Well, I shan't take up any more of your time with my rambling drivel. I hope you enjoy. _

_ Oh, and Happy Holidays! :)_

* * *

The Grandmother had never felt so old in her life. In all her long years, she had never felt such displeasure. Such anger as she did now.

She sat in her rocking chair, one gnarled hand resting on the fine wooden arm rest, the other gripping her cane so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Pale, cold blue eyes, nearly blind with age, bored into the man who knelt before her, displeasure tightening her thin lips into an unfriendly scowl.

She said nothing, she didn't need too. The man knew he had disappointed her. The only sound in the small, dimly lit, audience chamber was the soft swish of her rocker as she slid to and fro. It filed the cavernous silence like the slow, sonorous, knell of a funeral bell.

"I'm…I'm sorry Grandmother I didn't mean to fail you," the trembling man could no longer maintain his silence. He groveled before her, like so much swine, his forehead pressed to the cement floor.

"Yet you are here, Kevin…. You are here and Chiara Aiello Jensen is not…." Her voice rasped, cutting through the darkness like a knife. Too many cigarettes had turned her voice into gravel.

The man cringed. He didn't dare look up. It was a cardinal sin to look any Family Elder in the eye. Especially when one had failed.

"You were told to not come back until the job was complete. Until Jacob and Chiara Jensen were dead. Was there something unclear about those instructions?" the old woman queried.

"Yet here you are. You dare to come before one of the council of Elders with only half the job complete, and not even a body to show for that. It nearly cost the life of one of my finest men to confirm Jacob Jensen was dead…. How dare you," Though calm her voice cut like a knife sealing his fate almost as surely as a judge's gavel.

"I was told you would be merciful," He whispered pathetically, flicking his gaze upward catching the old woman eyes.

He dared.

The Grandmothers eyes widened and she rose up out of her chair, leaning heavily on her cane. A snap of her fingers was enough to bring her favorite man out of the shadows. The only man she called 'son.'

The tall, fit man in olive cargo pants and a fitted black shirt crossed the chamber with commanding strides. Without breaking pace he cuffed the man on his ear, so hard that it sent him reeling backwards.

"You dare rest your unworthy eyes on one of the sacred ones!" He bellowed advancing on him, even as he scrambled and scooted away.

"Please….Please have mercy on me. I didn't mean it ….Please….Just give me another chance to prove myself …. I won't fail you again." The man stammered flinching and raising his arms to protect himself.

The man just raised his fist again, what dim light there was glinted off brass knuckles. He was going to kill the insolent child.

For just a moment the Grandmother entertained the idea of letting him do just that. It would probably be more merciful then the fate she had been planning for the man. The man who was no better than a traitor as far as the Family was concerned.

As far as she was concerned.

She let the beating carry on for a moment, carefully weighing her options. Then abruptly she raised one weathered hand and the beating stopped.

Hardly winded, her 'son' stepped back, letting his bloodied fists fall to his sides, his eyes focused on his well-worn, military style, black boots. Waiting.

The traitor Kevin lay on the ground, broken and whimpering.

She shuffled over to him, her hunched form becoming more menacing, with each step she took.

The traitor rolled to his back with a groan, and peered at her through his one good eye. The other was a swollen, bloodied mass that he would probably never regain use of.

Not that it would matter for long.

He sniveled pitifully when he saw her standing there, peering down at him. The cold look of utter disappointment in her eyes could not have been mistaken.

Silently, like a saving angel, she extended her cane towards him, watching as his one good eye widened.

Like a man dying of thirst he rolled to his knees and scrambled forward taking the cane gratefully in his hands.

he mistook her gesture as a sign of mercy.

She smiled benignly at him as he pressed his filthy lips to her cane again and again.

A brush of her thumb across the hidden button was all it took to fire the needle.

She watched, her benevolent smile acquiring a mocking edge, as his eye widened once more, traveling down to the syringe that was lodged deeply in his chest.

Accelerated Ebola.

One of her nastier concoctions.

A horrible way to die.

She watched as he reached up towards his chest and numbly removed the needle. Removing it would do him no good. The virus had already been injected into his system. It was already in his blood stream.

It fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed to reverberate off the stone walls. Its message was clear this man's doom was secure.

He began to cough, violent convulsions shaking his frame, taking him to the floor. He lay there convulsing, vomiting up his own blood, coughing and choking.

"Shall I put him out of his misery Grandmother?" her 'son' asked finally after several long agonizing minutes of watching the man wither in excruciating agony.

"No. Leave him," she said without looking back as she returned to her chair. "Let him die a traitor's death. He deserves no less. "

"Yes Grandmother," he said both respectful and properly submissive, yet without weakness.

She shuffled to her chair, wrapping the visage of a hunched old woman around her like a cloak, and sat down with a weary sigh.

For a long moment she just watched her 'son' as he watched the man die. His handsome, sculpted, face expressionless.

He was a strong one. Smart to. An ex-member of the Swedish special forces, turned traitor and renegade. A man with no conscious and no morals. He was the perfect killer.

The grandmother had found him huddled in the doorway of some back alley in Chicago, so strung out on drugs and drunk it had been a miracle he'd been alive. Homeless, dressed only in his old, ratty, fatigues, with no one to turn to, betrayed and exiled by the government he had once willingly and faithfully served. She had seen the potential in him; through the dirt and the grime and the drugs. She had taken him in. Taken him under her wing.

Under her careful direction, and with her own personal attention, the Family had been able to bring him back from that hellish darkness. At least somewhat.

Weather from the drugs or other things, something in the man had snapped, leaving his sanity a questionable thing.

Still he served the family faithfully and was especially loyal to the Grandmother. It was only because of her that he was alive and he knew it. His loyalty to her was unquestioned.

She smiled with genuine affection as she observed the man, awaiting her command. He stood and waited with disciplined, restrained, readiness. Awaiting her command.

He knew knew her so well it was almost frightening. If he hadn't been so completely devoted to her she might have been concerned, and even may have ordered him killed.

But as it was he lived only to fulfill her will.

Right now her will was that the pathetic excuse of a man in front of her die. She grew tired of his wretched wailing.

A slight lift of her finger was all it took.

In one smooth, swift, almost elegant motion, her 'son' drew his gun from his shoulder holster, aimed it at the man's head and pulled the trigger.

The soft whump of the silenced weapon erased his existence. His failure.

The grandmother swallowed her nostrils flaring as the coppery smell of blood mixed with feces, reached her nose.

Even the traitor's smell was an offense.

She snapped her fingers and two petrified looking servants came running from the shadows. They bowed hurriedly, keeping their eyes averted from hers.

They were smart.

She was not in the mood to be trifled with. "Clean it up," She ordered her voice hard with brutality.

They bowed, and then hurried to do her will.

Finished with his task her son, smoothly holstered his weapon and prepared to return to his post, in the shadows, by her side.

She stopped him, beckoning him to approach.

He did so bowing his head before her. He really should have gone to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. But she granted him leniency.

Her 'son' was destined for great things. One day with the right training, and cultivation, he would rise up and rule The Family.

He would become The Father and she would ever be his loving, faithful, Grandmother. Ruling quietly, behind the scenes.

"Halsten, how are you my son?" She said, her eyes crinkling, fondly.

"Being in your presence fills me with joy Grandmother," he replied, inclining his head, his manner subservient

She smiled at him, marveling at the man's complete sincerity. He was already extremely beneficial, and would only be more so later.

"Please my son. No need to be so formal with me…."

"I would never dream of disrespecting you so, Grandmother,"

"You are a good son to be so mindful," she murmured. It was a high compliment and his eyes widened slightly. The only sign he was surprised.

"Thank you Grandmother." He said inclining his head even further, hunching his broad shoulders in a more formal bow.

"Come. I got you a present," she said brusquely, rising from her chair.

Halsten was quick to proffer his arm.

She leaned on it gratefully, silently envying the chorded strength of his arms and the tautly strung power in his lean, well-muscled, athletic, frame.

She led them to side room, clapping her hands to bring the lights on. Two guards, hurriedly feel to their knees, their weapons clattering to the floor, as they touched their foreheads to the floor.

The Grandmother didn't even so much as acknowledge them. Instead she continued forwards, to the black table in the center of the room. A black box sat in the center of the table, backlit by bright white lights.

"Go on. Take a look," she encouraged stopping just short of the box, releasing his arm.

He glanced at her uncertainly before venturing towards the box and resting his hands on it. He paused, drawing deep breath before sliding his thumbs beneath the clasps.

They opened with a soft snick.

He pushed the lid open on silent, air pressure, hinges, drawing a sharp breath at what he saw.

Inside, on a cushion of padded black material, sat an M24 sniper rifle, equipped with the latest in tactical gear. Its metallic, black, surface gleamed softly in the light. It was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He stroked the cool metal of the stock with reverent fingers. The pure power of the firearm momentarily breaking his rigid self-discipline.

Abruptly he closed the lid with a soft, decisive snick, his discipline returning.

The man was good; she had to give him that. Few men could exercise such self control in the presence of something they wanted.

"Grandmother…this is too much I cannot accept it.

"You must…. You will need it,"

He turned towards her, dark eyes glinting, one hand still resting on the box.

"You have an errand for me Grandmother?" He asked his, slightly accented, voice rumbling from deep within his broad, sculpted, chest.

"Just a small one. It should be quick work for you…. I wanted to make sure you had the very best though… These aren't small fish you're playing with. You'll be butting heads with a federal agency…." She informed him, suddenly worried for him. She suppressed it firmly letting her face show nothing, though the thought of losing someone she actually had come to care about, filled her with foreboding. She had gotten to close to him. Let him get to close to her. Someday her affection for this boy would seal her doom. Someone would find out. Someone would take advantage.

"Jensen?" His query broke her train of thought and she looked up at him, her face a carefully composed mask.

"Indeed…. I'm afraid this whole situation has become quite messy. It's rapidly spiraling out of control and I'm afraid it is starting to -reflect- poorly on the family... You understand?"

He nodded, opening the case once more and gazing at the high-powered rifle.

"Don't worry Grandmother. I'll take care of it for you. "He promised, hefting the rifle to his shoulder with experienced ease.

"I know you will Halsten. I know you will," she replied tousling his, dark, short cropped hair fondly, letting her hand drift down to rest on his cheek.

He smiled at her with equal affection, leaning into her hand slightly.

"Do we know where the coward hid her?" he asked reaching up and grasping her hand between his own.

He had large, strong, powerful hands. Capable hands. Hands with blood on them both current and past.

"Of course. He secreted her away. But no one can hide form us for long. She is staying in cabin in Douthat state park. Number seven…. "She paused giving him time to memorize the address.

It didn't take long.

"As far as we know she is alone. However it is safe to assume that agents from the federal agency will be there…. That is why I am recruiting you for the job."

She smiled at him, moving her hand to rest on his well-muscled bicep.

"Find Jensen and kill her…. Eliminate the agents who are with her as well," she said with calm, calculated intensity.

He nodded, twitching his lips just slightly in what was probably meant to be a smile.

The man was the definition of discipline.

Perhaps then this _agency_ will get the message and drop the case.… Weather they drop it or not they will learn to respect The Family, just as our political enemies have…. "Her smile faded slightly as she regarded her 'son' once again thinking if the danger she was sending him into.

"Your skills are unsurpassed both in the field, and as a sniper. You are the best man I have. You have the confidence of the Family…..More importantly, still, you have my confidence," she reassured, mostly for her own benefit.

His eyes glinted like flint in the darkness. "I'll leave right away Grandmother. I won't come back until the task is complete" he swore. Conviction ran deep in his voice.

"I know you won't "she murmured patting his bicep lightly, watching him as he walked towards the door.

"Halsten!"

He drew up short in the doorway, turning back to look at her, half his profile hidden in shadow, the gun still on his shoulder.

"Don't disappoint me," she said meeting his gaze squarely.

The man nodded and vanished into the shadows.

* * *

It wasn't until Halsten was out of the building, and speeding down the interstate in his Escalade that he allowed himself to smile. Well and truly smile.

The woman thought she had him under control. She knew so little.

He knew the game she was playing.

The truth was he was playing her.

She was only a tool in his ascension to the top. A means to an end.

Once he became The Father, he would have her killed.

Or, better yet, he'd kill her himself….. He'd enjoy that.

Then he'd replace her. He'd exchange her with a man. A man he could trust, manipulate, and easily kill.

Women had no place in the hierarchy of an organized crime syndicate. Positions like The Grandmother and The Mother were almost laughable.

Women had forgotten their rightful place in the world.

Beneath men.

But he intended to change all that. Starting with the Family. First he would build their trust. Gain the respect of the hundreds of underlings who practically indentured themselves to these iconic leaders. Then starting with her he would systematically eliminate the hierarchy, one by one, until they were all dead. So that no one could contest his rule. Or his will.

With the syndicate in disarray, he would take the seat of power and provide the good strong leadership the syndicate needed. And, that was only the start.

He smiled and for the briefest of moments allowed himself to envision a world in which he ruled. The only real power. The ultimate power. A supreme being, of sorts.

God.

In his kingdom men would hold all the important positions necessary to government and in industry. Men would be revered. Worshiped. They would rule by divine right, over there households and he would be their God. Their savior from all that was wrong and cruel and unfair and unjust in this world. He would take this world and set it to rights.

Women would be removed from their self-imposed glorified pedestal and forced to live a life of, submissive, servitude. They would be of little or no worth. Existing simply to fill the needs of the men who ruled them.

Little more than chattel.

Of course he said none of this. He didn't speak a word as he guided the Escalade smoothly around the banks and turns of the interstate. He knew his vehicle was bugged. He wouldn't doubt it if they had somehow managed to slip a wire somewhere on his person.

"I must not fail the Grandmother." He muttered deliberately making his voice sound a little bit deranged.

Let them think he was crazy. Let them think he was little more than a pawn in their petty games.

He had much higher goals.

It was only a fool who underestimated his enemies.

Halsten was definitely an enemy.

* * *

Ranger Baako leaned against the hood of his Land Rover, tossing an apple from one hand to the other, his back turned to the main road.

He wanted nothing more than to go home to his wife home and children.

He didn't even notice the black Escalade that pulled up just down the road, and parked behind a thick stand of trees.

He didn't hear the man as he approached.

The near silent 'whump' of a silenced gun, split the air just behind him. It was the only warning he received.

By then it was too late.

Distantly he noted that the apple had fallen. It thudded to the ground, the sound strangely loud in his ears, its green skin, stark against the deep, brown earth.

A second bullet passed through his chest and he grunted his eye traveling down to fix on the growing patch of blood that blossomed right where his heart should be.

The color fascinated him and for a moment he admired the deep, rich, red color, even as he crumpled to his knees.

It really was quite beautiful.

Too bad he wouldn't live long enough to truly appreciate it.

Slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, the man who had killed him circled into view. He stared at Baako a faintly smug expression on his handsome features. Then, slowly, he lifted his pistol. Leveling it so that the barrel was aimed just between the ranger's eyebrows.

Then the assassin smiled at him. Really smiled. His teeth perfectly straight and almost blindingly white against his sun-darkened skin. It could have been a handsome smile, one of the ones that could win hearts and just as easily break them; if not for the slightly manic, brutality behind it.

"Who?" Baako rasped his normally powerful booming voice, reduced to little more than a wet gurgle. He fumbled for his gun ineffectually. His fingers were numb. Why were his fingers numb?

"I am the harbinger of death" the man said then pulled the trigger.

Ranger Baako knew no more


	6. Predator

_Summery: A game of cat and mouse rapidly turns deadly as Tony and ZIva work to protect a young woman...  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any other famous person/place/thing mentioned herein.  
_

_A/N: Hello, hello! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! It was certainly a good holiday season for me. I got to spend so great quality time with my family, which was really nice. In any case I am back at school now. Currently enrolled in 16 units worth of coursework, so my life is pretty much regulated to eat, sleep, and do homework. BUT I shall try to be prompt and consistent in posting here. I hope you enjoy these chapters, and as always please leave your reviews. I love them.  
_

* * *

Halsten stared down at the man he had just killed his eyes empty and cold. The small smile on his lips held no real emotion. Slowly he lowered his pistol, regarding the man with a sort of odd, detached curiosity. Who had he been? Where had he come from? What had he seen? The questions circled in Hasten's mind mere idle chatter, and for the briefest moment he entertained them. Than just as quickly dismissed them.

In the end it didn't matter. The man had just been another loss necessary in his ascension to the top. Moving quickly now; he returned his customized SIG SAUER, with a silencer, back to his shoulder holster. Donning gloves he briskly searched the dead man, taking his pistol, his excess ammunition, his car keys, his wallet, a map and his long distance radio.

With an efficiency born out of years of practice he took the man and dragged him into the nearby bushes. Using long needle nose pliers he carefully went about the gruesome process of insuring that he could never be found or connected with the man's murder.

Thirty minutes later he stepped back and observed his work with a critical eye. Nothing remained of the man that could indicate Halsten in his murder. No teeth, no fingertips, no bullets, no casings. Not even a hint that he had been involved. The police would have a hard enough time identifying the man much less tying him back to the assassin. Satisfied that he was completely untraceable he moved to the trailhead, careful to cover his footsteps as he went

"Are you almost ready to go Miss Jensen?" Ziva asked leaning against the doorframe that led into the cabins small bedroom.

"Hmm….yes…of course…." Chiara replied her hands fiddling idly with something. The bed before her was littered with things, clothing, books, and memories. The metal frame backpack before her was stuffed to the brim. There was only room in her bag for one more thing.

Walking up to her Ziva looked over the collection of belongings that spelled out these people's lives. Several fancy ties were scattered across the bed, tangled with a number of old t-shirts, and slacks, nice blouses, and flowing skirts. Books with titles like _Mom's Cookbook_, and _Wedding Memories _lay spread out amongst the clutter along with several pictures of the two together.

Chiara just stood there staring at it all with a blank expression clearly at a loss. Numbly she set down the small framed picture she had been holding and looked at the agent.

"How do you do it?" she asked her voice a near whisper.

"What?" Ziva asked her gaze fixed on the picture the woman had been holding; a black and white image of Chiara and Jacob looking at each other, laughing and smiling, holding hands. Happy.

Similar pictures littered Ziva and Tony's small tasteful home in the suburbs. Understanding and sympathy blossomed in Ziva as she thought about those pictures. Thought about losing him. Having him suddenly and violently ripped away.

She hugged herself lightly; one hand drifting to her neck, her fingers brushing against the warm metal of her Star of David necklace and wedding band which she wore on the same chain. They settled in the hollow of her throat, silently comforting.

"Your job. How do you do what you do and keep going? You must see so much death and so much destruction….Terrible things….how do you keep going?"

"It is hard, yes…. But there are worse things. If these men who we fight and stand against were allowed to go free…. The consequences would be far worse. The world they would create…a world without rules…without justice, would be worse than we can imagine. "

"How do you…how do we… keep going?" Chiara asked turning towards the agent watching her hand as she fiddled with the necklace.

Ziva considered the woman, looking into her empty eyes. Eyes heavy with defeat. Chiara wanted so badly to believe in the power of good. To hope again. She was crying out for help and understanding even as she tried to rally the strength within herself to go on.

Losing someone you love in such a terrible way is a challenging thing. Difficult beyond imagining. Ziva understood that pain. Understood it far too well.

"You see that man in there?" she asked pointing at Tony who sat comfortably in a rocking chair watching them. "He makes it all worth it…."

Chiara turned towards Tony her brow furrowed, then back towards Ziva, clearly confused.

Silently Ziva reached up and undid her necklace, carefully removing the wedding band from the chain, and sliding it unto her finger. She wore it there during missions so that it wouldn't get lost and to protect Tony in case they ever got caught. That way a connection wouldn't immediately be made back to him and the enemies they faced everyday wouldn't be able to use the love the two agents shared against them.

Through investigation and interrogation would reveal the link. But at least the link would be hidden to the casual observer.

"You're married…." Chiara whispered her eyes widening as she looked from one agent to the other.

"Tony is more than my partner. He's….everything" Ziva murmured refastening her necklace, though she kept her wedding band on. Some risks were worth taking.

"Chiara as federal agents we take risks every single day. As do soldiers and police officers and other people in professions like ours. We see terrible things. The very worst of society. The very worst in people….." Tony said smiling slightly, as he walked over to them and took Ziva's hand and looking into her eyes.

If she felt comfortable revealing that they were married, than he supported her.

"But what makes it all worth it Chiara is the knowledge that because of our sacrifice the people that we care about and love the most are safe. It is the knowledge that someday if and when we have children we can sleep a little bit sounder knowing the world is a little bit safer because of what we do. That's what makes it worth it," Ziva added trailing off as she silently picked up the picture Chiara had been holding.

"The world is a little bit safer because of what your husband did. He acted in spite of his fear, knowing the costs. That took courage beyond imagining." Ziva murmured, smiling slightly she pressed the photo into the woman's hands.

Tears welled in the other woman's and suddenly she was hugging Ziva, squeezing fiercely.

For a moment Ziva stood oddly tangled between the woman and Tony. Then thankfully he released her hand and she was able to return the woman's hug, stroking her back gently as she cried into her shoulder.

In a previous life, as Mossad, such a gesture would have been seen as weakness, and weakness was unacceptable. As an NCIS agent she had learned that it was okay to show emotion. She had learned it was okay to love. It was something that she had to work at and practice but she tried. Now she was married and while the emotions were still a little strange she was far more comfortable showing them then she had ever been before.

Eventually the woman moved away, eyes red and puffy a small smile playing tremulously on her lips. "Thank you," she said brushing tears away with the back of one hand.

Ziva just smiled, watching as she turned and pressed the photo into her bag, then left to retrieve the long distance radio Ranger Baako had given them.

"Ranger Baako this is Agent DiNozzo we're getting ready to leave the cabin. Is everything okay over there?" Ziva spoke into the radio.

Static blared in response.

"Ranger Baako this is Agent David, do you read over?"

More static.

"Ranger Baako?" Ziva called sharing a long worried look with her husband.

"What is it? Is something wrong? What's going on?" Chiara asked her eyes moving from one agent to the other anxiously.

Tony silenced her with a gently raised finger, moving towards the front door taking out his pistol.

"Hello Agent David." The man's voice cut suddenly through the static filling the room with cold dread.

"Hello," ZIva replied with deceptive calm.

"I hope you enjoyed your stay in the woods Agent David. It's a pity it will end so poorly for you." The man's heavily accented voice only served to make the apprehension in the room worse.

"Who are you?"

"Who I am is not important. What matters is who you are and more importantly who the person you have been assigned to protect is….Do you know who she is Agent David? Do you know what she's done?" the man asked with a scoff. "Of course not. You have no concept of what's going on. The people that are looking for the woman you're protecting….. You have no idea of what you're up against. "

"What is it you want?"

"Me? I want what all men want...What my employers want, however…. That is a different matter entirely."

"Who are your employers?" Ziva demanded her gaze fixed on Chiara, who was listening with wide fearful eyes.

The man laughed contemptuously. "So eager…. Do not worry Miss David I will make sure you live long enough for me to take you to them….I'm sure they would love to meet you."

"No! Leave them alone. It's me you want!" Chiara shouted into the radio, snatching it from Ziva's grasp.

"Ah Miss Jensen…. So nice to hear you're still alive…. For now…. A noble gesture Miss Jensen….Sadly I cannot grant your request. " The man replied with blatantly false regret.

Ziva made a frustrated noise. "Miss Jensen, please…. We appreciate that you are trying to protect us, but that is our job. Let us protect you." She said taking the radio back.

"He's going to kill us…."Chiara whispered standing stock still in the middle of the room. Tony was quick to come to the woman's side and guide her gently into a chair. He sat with her comforting her, while Ziva traded words with the man on the radio.

"Listen whoever you are. You should know that Miss Jensen is in the custody of the Navy Criminal Investigative Services. As such she is under our jurisdiction and protection. Any attempt to harm her will be seen as attempted murder and you will be charged appropriately."

"Save your petty sense of justice. It'll do you no good, here," the man scoffed. "The only justice that matters is bullets and bloodshed… Tell me, Miss David, are you prepared to die?"

Ziva hesitated; her finger pressed over the radio key and looked up at Tony. He turned towards her his gaze steady and unwavering. Before there would have been no hesitation. They would have been no second guessing. But now that she had someone to live for…. It changed things.

"We shall see who does the dying today." Ziva replied and clicked the radio off with finality.

"We have to go." Tony said quietly but with unquestionable authority. Almost instantly Ziva and Chiara were moving. Gathering the last of their things. Within seconds all three had their packs on.

"Let's move. Chiara stay close to Agent DiNozzo and I" Ziva said with equal authority.

The woman nodded, still clearly quite shaken, and followed the agents towards the door.

Halsten smiled smugly at the now silent radio and clipped it to his belt. It would be useful later. With the radio he would have access to any communication the agents made. This gave him an advantage. Still he was careful to turn it on silent. It would not do to have his position given away before he could fulfill his mandate.

He was settled on the top of a hill about half a mile off the main trail that led to the cabin. It was steep and tall and covered in brambles and rocks the size of his suburban. They provided him with plenty of cover and concealment. He was situated in a cozy snipers nest amongst the rocks near the top of the hill and his vantage point gave him a great view of the cabin and its surrounding area not to mention three different trails that wove through the expanse of the forest.

He sighted through the powerful scope of his rifle, his crosshairs trained on the front door of the cabin, and waited, thinking about the conversation he had just had.

He had learned much from the tête-à-tête with the woman. He could tell from her voice that this lady agent would not be so easy to beat. The iron in her voice spoke of a will that would not be broken. At least not easily. A slight accent suggested foreign roots, Middle Eastern if his guess was right. Which made her that much more interesting. He couldn't dismiss the likely hood of foreign training. This added to her mystery, and her potential. His hunt had just become much more challenging and heady. He would enjoy destroying her. He would enjoy teaching her a lesson. Showing her the work of a real master.

He also knew from the soft talking in the background that there was at least one other agent with the woman and his target. He hadn't been able to tell if the man had had an accent like the woman. But he undoubtedly would be the biggest threat. He would have the most training, be the most resourceful, and have the greatest amount of physical prowess. He was also probably the leader of the mission. Which meant that if Halsten took him out it could potentially create chaos amongst the fugitives. He would die first.

Jensen however, was not a federal agent. She wasn't even a boy scout. She was a housewife, from a rich family. Completely out of her element. She would be a hindrance to the agents. She would undoubtedly slow them down.

He was pondering about whether it would be better to bring Chiara Jensen back in a body bag or chains, when the door suddenly opened.

The distracted thoughts vanished, and he quickly honed in on the door, breathing deeply and slowly, he waited, finger poised, for his target to appear.

"Goodbye, Miss David." He muttered as the first person started to emerge, and then calmly squeezed the trigger.

The loud crack of a rifle split the air like lightning sending wooden splinters flying across the room.

"Sniper! Get down!" Ziva screamed, pulling Chiara roughly to the floor and covering her bodily.

Another shot sent more wood splinters slicing through the air like daggers.

"Tony!" Ziva yelled shielding her face from the debris. Tony!" She yelled again when there was no response from her partner. He lay still and unmoving just inside the door.

"Tony!" She screamed, scrambling away from Chiara towards her husband, staying low to the ground as yet another shot ripped through the air. It took seconds to reach him but reaching him did little to comfort her. It didn't take an expert to see Tony had been hit and was badly wounded. Blood soaked the right side of shirt and was pooling on the floor beneath him.

"Tony….Tony….can you hear me…." She cried urgently, shaking him, trying hard to stay in control. Trying hard to stay calm. He groaned but otherwise was unresponsive.

Swearing under her breath in a dozen different languages Ziva took him beneath the arms and dragged him farther inside the cabin, kicking the door shut with her foot. A stark red trail followed him.

"Good Heavens! Is…is that blood? Is he, he…dead?" Chiara stammered scooting away from the Tony an expression of abject horror on her face.

"Stay down." Ziva snapped leaning over him and applying pressure to the wound. "Tony! Tony can you hear me? Listen to me Tony, you can't fall asleep! I know it's hard but you have to stay awake! Do you hear me?" She tried hard not to yell, but panic seized her chest with icy claws filling her with dread.

Suddenly she understood what it must have been like for him a year ago when the situation was reversed.

Then like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds he opened his eyes and looked at her. Dazed and confused he pursed his lips, frowning slightly. "Zi…" he croaked, pulling his brows down.

"Yes…yes….I'm here. I'm here…" she reassured hope and joy surging through her like a drug.

"Hurts…."

"I know… I know it hurts…. But you have to stay awake."

"Why?"

"Because I need you! You're my husband and I love you and if you die I will never be able to live with myself!"

He chuckled, and then grimaced as pain coursed through his frame. "Oh. Well why didn't you say so," he managed with a weak smile. She would have clouted him in different circumstances; if he hadn't been shot. But he had, so she granted him leniency. Just this once.

"Chiara." She snapped whirling on the woman. She flinched like she had been struck, clearly frightened out of her wits.

"Chiara listen. I need you to listen to me okay. I need you to get into my pack and find the first aid kid okay. It should be near the top."

Something in Chiara must have snapped because she managed to gather herself and in just a few moments had procured the kit. "What can I do to help?" she asked only a slight tremor in her voice, coming over to kneel next to Ziva.

Ziva scrutinized her for a moment and found a strange desperation there. A need to be useful. It was probably the only thing keeping the woman sane at the moment. Ziva needed her to stay stable. At least until the bullets stopped flying. Undoubtedly she would need some serious therapy after this.

"Alright we only have a few minutes until that psycho comes for us. We don't have a lot of time to spend on a full treatment. So we'll just have to take care of the basics for now. The first thing I need you to do is…."

"Put on gloves, got it. What's next?" Ziva blinked momentarily caught off guard and opened her mouth to explain the next step, but the woman was already cutting away Tony's shirt with trauma shears.

"Chiara are you a nurse?"

"No…. I was attending medical school when I met Jacob. I dropped out before finishing." She replied now strangely calm as she worked, applying gauze to the wound. "You're right we won't have time to do anything major here. But he will need major medical treatment…. Keep pressure on the wound, I'm going to pour this on. It'll help coagulate the blood which hopefully will slow the flow. We'll put new gauze on it then apply a pressure bandage,"

"How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure. The bullet passed clean through though. Which is good. It hit him high on the right side it doesn't look like it penetrated his lung but I can't really tell. Even if I could I'm hardly qualified to make a proper diagnosis. He's losing a lot of blood though. We need to get him to the hospital and quickly," Chiara replied her gaze intent as she secured the bandage.

Ziva just nodded and looked back down at Tony, who had slipped into unconsciousness.

"All right that should do it. What do we do now? If we go out the front door we'll be killed," Chiara said sitting back on her heels interlacing her blood slicked fingers to help ease her shaking hands.

"We go out the window, make for the tree line."

"What then?

"We'll travel overland until we hook back up with another trail then make our way out. "

"He won't last that long."

"Then we'll have to find a clearing of some sort on the map and head for that. Radio for a medevac and hope they find us before he does." Ziva said after only a moment's hesitation. Chiara nodded quickly a mixture of steel and fear in her eyes.

"I'll follow you….."

"Good. Here, help me get him to the window…." Ziva said standing, lifting Tony as she did, taking most of his weight. Chiara quickly took his feet and within seconds they had him at the window. A little awkward maneuvering and they were able to push Tony through the window. He fell to the ground with a loud thump, and lay there unmoving, while the women followed him out.

They had used the back bedroom window and so for now, they were out of the snipers line of sight.

"All right we don't have a lot of time so this is what we will have to do. On the count of three Chiara I want you to run as fast as you can for those trees there," Ziva instructed pointing at the nearest cluster of trees, some twenty meters away.

Chiara nodded taking the pistol Ziva handed her and holding it tightly her hands shaking so badly that for a moment Ziva contemplated taking it back.

"Zigzag, don't run straight and keep your head down. Once you hit the trees you keep running. Run as far and as fast as you can. Don't stop. Don't look back. Just keep running. Understand?" She continued.

Chiara nodded again her eyes wide and frightened. "What about you?" She stammered.

"I'll be right behind you."

"What if he comes after us?"

"I'll take care of him…" Ziva said quietly, her voice cold as ice.

Chiara nodded and started to rise when Ziva grabbed her arm.

"If for some reason we get separated I want you to head for the road. Its directly west of our location. Head towards the setting sun. When you hit the road use this…" she paused briefly to press Tony's cell phone into the woman's hand. "Dial two and you'll get NCIS, agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He'll find you and keep you keep you safe. Understand?"

"What if I dial one?"

"You'll get me."

"What if someone tries to stop me?"

"Give them two warnings. Then fire a warning shot at their feet. If they still persist. Shoot them."

"What if they try to shoot me first…?"

"Then skip to warnings and just shoot them."

"You'll be right behind me?" she said anxiously glancing at the sun which was just started to wane.

"Every step of the way. Now hurry. He can't be far…." Ziva instructed clapping her on the shoulder.

The woman hesitated briefly, looking at Ziva her eyes wide and terrified, and then abruptly she hugged the agent. "Thank you. For everything." She murmured in Ziva's ear and then abruptly she was gone, sprinting for all she was worth across the open ground towards the trees.

Ziva didn't dare look. She stood abruptly, lifting Tony onto her shoulders fireman style and ran for all she was worth in the opposite direction.


	7. Fugitives

_Summery: A game of cat and mouse turns deadly for Tony and Ziva..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS...  
_

_A/N: Things are getting dicey for our favorite couple... Will they live or will they die? That is the question.  
_

* * *

There was a brief pause as Chiara broke away from the building, but all too soon the bullets started flying. They whizzed through the air like angry hornets as she ran for all she was worth. Coming so near her she could feel the wind of their passing.

Still she ran. She ran and didn't stop just like the Agent had instructed her. She didn't look back, she didn't rest. She just kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other even as the bullets sliced through the air and thudded into the trees that now surrounded her.

Still she ran. She ran because if she stopped, she was a dead woman. She knew it. She knew it as surely as she knew the agents who had come to help her were dead. They couldn't have evaded the bullets. Not with one carrying the other. Moving slower. They would have been an easy target.

Guilt and grief tore at her ripping a sob from her throat as she thought of them. They had been good people.… Fearless, selfless, wonderful people. They had given their lives for her. She wouldn't let them down. She would live if only so that she could see their deaths and the loss of her husband avenged.

She would survive so that their memory could live on through her and her progeny. She would make sure the world knew the truth about this so called Family. She would make sure the world knew about Tony and Ziva DiNozzo.

Halsten was half way down the mountain when they abruptly broke free of the cabin and ran for the trees.

Cursing, he had skidded to a halt and lifted his rifle to his eye only to find himself confronted with two separate targets. A lone woman running for all she was worth, and two others, one carrying the other fireman style, running in the opposite direction.

He hesitated, his sight traveling first from one to the other.

He was pretty sure the one on his left, the single girl, was Chiara Jensen. The other two were probably the federal agents. But he couldn't be certain. Maybe it was a trick.

In the end his hesitation cost him.

He swept his rifle to the left trying to pin the single girl who wove and dipped and ducked like a crazy woman. More than once he squeezed off a round, when he thought he had her in his sights, only to have her disappear or swerve at the last moment, complete throwing off his shot.

Then she hit the trees and he knew it was useless. He still tried but the trees were thickly clustered in this part of the park and in the end they took the bullets for the woman.

Cursing he swept his rifle right and tried to sight on the other two, but they had already disappeared into the trees. His opportunity to take them had been wasted trying to hit the girl.

Furious with himself he quickly slid a new five round clip into his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder, before pursuing the girl into the trees.

Ziva didn't know how long she had been running. She didn't want to think about it. She just kept going, forcing herself onward, her husband weighing heavily on her shoulders.

She didn't mind the weight. The weight was nothing compared to the worry. He would have done the same for her…. Had done the something similar for her on more than one occasion. But that knowledge did little to ease her fear.

His breath, labored and warm, against her shoulder was the only reassurance she had that he was still alive. Other than that he had been completely still and silent. It concerned her. Tony was never this quiet. If anything he talked compulsively. She would have preferred that to this eerie silence in which they traveled. Not even the bird sang to keep them company. They were as silent as the grave, watching the agents pass by with critical eyes. Perhaps a forewarning? Ziva didn't want to think about it. He couldn't be dead. He wasn't allowed to be dead. She wasn't ready for him to die yet. She needed him still. She had too many things she still had to tell him.

Distantly she knew her anger was blinding her. She knew it clouded her judgment. Her reasoning. Her ability to think clearly. But her anger was also one of the only things keeping her going. That and adrenaline. And who knew when that would wear out.

"Come on Tony. Stay with me." She grunted hefting him higher on her shoulders as she ran, thankful that they were at least on the same track the Chiara was on. She had circled back after a hundred meters and quickly found her trail. The woman was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop when it came to hiding her tracks.

It was almost laughable how easy she was to follow.

Luckily there were no signs of anyone else's passage. Which meant either their sniper hadn't followed them into the woods, or was a far more adept tracker then Ziva had given him credit for and was actually following Chiara unnoticed; even to the highly trained Mossad officer. Or he had pursued her and Tony and lost their trail. But she doubted that. She certainly had been more careful about leaving markers on the surroundings. There wasn't much she could do about Tony's blood however. It ran down his arm, over Ziva's hand where she gripped him, and dripped from his fingertips. Slowly, ominously, inexorably. His life. One drop at a time.

She shook the thoughts from her head and refocused on the matter at hand. The sniper.

She highly doubted he had given up the hunt. If anything he was following behind them. Or he was waiting, perched in a tree somewhere, watching the road or the trails or any number of things. Waiting for them to make a wrong move.

She shuddered involuntarily at the idea of the man sitting comfortably in a tree, unhurried, well rested, watching them through the scope of his rifle, waiting to take the shot. Playing with them in some absurd parody of cat and mouse, in which he was the cat and they were the mouse.

The only problem with cat and mouse is that, unlike Tom and Jerry, the cat always wins eventually.

She was thinking like Tony. Relating everything back to movies and TV shows. It made her laugh abruptly, and she staggered, nearly falling. She regained her footing though and thankfully her calm and sense of reason came with it.

She forced Tony to the back of her find and focused on catching up to Chiara. Maybe she could find the woman and maybe just maybe if they could find each other, they would have some chance of actually winning this thing and getting out of here alive. Maybe.

Determination renewed she surged forward with new found strength,

Chiara ran and ran until finally she could run no more. Weary beyond imagining she splashed through a stream, sinking to her knees on the far side of the bank.

Dimly she knew she was horribly exposed. No trees nearby to hide her. But at this point she really didn't care. She was too tired to even think, much less move. Breathing hurt, sending painful stitches up her side.

She tried to breathe deeply and slowly like she had been taught in tennis, but her body demanded oxygen, and she gulped it in greedy gasps, ever desperate for more.

It took a good fifteen minutes for her to calm down enough to look around and take stock of her surroundings. She had no idea where she was.

She had shifted directions a number of times while running just like Ziva had told her, even running up a shallow stream a ways, just like she had seen in movies, until finally she had come here and been unable to continue.

Forcing herself to think was an effort but she managed it, finding the position of the sun, before crawling back to the stream to get a drink. She scooped water out of the stream in her palms, lifting them to her parched lips, like a man dying from thirst.

She was in the process of drinking when she heard the noise.

A sharp crack as someone broke a branch back the way she came. She was being followed.

Fear gave her new energy and she scrambled backwards away from the water finding shelter behind a tree. With shaking hands she took out the pistol Ziva had given her and pulled back the chamber. Absurdly she felt like some action hero from some movie, and she almost laughed.

Only terror kept her from doing so.

There was a rustle and a bush just across the stream shook, bust she couldn't see anything through the gloom of approaching evening.

The pistol shook and she tried to hold it steady as she trained it on the woods on the opposite side of the stream.

"Chiara….Chiara it's Agent David….can you hear me" a voice whispered suddenly cutting through the stillness like a knife.

It was such a shock that Chiara had to suppress a scream. She stifled it in her hand, muffling it slightly. It sounded like Ziva, but she couldn't be certain.

"Chiara if you can hear me….Its agent David….I have Tony, we're coming out. Don't shoot." The voice whispered again sending the bushes to rustling.

Chiara tried to breath slowly and steadily just like her father and older brothers had taught her when it came to shooting, and held the gun steadily on the place where the bushes were moving. This could be a trick.

Then suddenly they broke free and it really was Ziva and Tony and she let out a little exclamation of relief.

"I'm over here," she called hoarsely, leaning back against the tree, cradling the gun against her chest, and squeezing her eyes shut.

The thought that just for a moment she had been ready to kill someone was horrifying. It nauseated her and she had to force back her gorge.

There was some movement, and then suddenly Ziva David was there kneeling in front of her, Tony at her feet. "Chiara….Chiara can you hear me?" She asked her voice strangely distant in Chiara's ears.

She had never been so terrified in her life. Not even when her horse had thrown her had she felt this much fear. But then horses didn't carry guns or deliberately try to kill you. So that was a bad comparison anyways.

She breathed in slowly and nodded, cracking first one eye opened then the other, to gaze at the agent. The idea that this might all be a dream, some insane hallucination, terrified her. She had to resist the urge to curl into a ball, mightily.

"Are you okay?" Ziva asked holding her gently by the shoulders.

She nodded though she wasn't entirely certain she was being honest.

"Are you hurt?" The agent's hands drifted to her own, and gently pulled the gun from her suddenly numb fingers.

She shook her head, releasing the weapon without resistance.

"Thank heavens I found you. Listen I know you're probably exhausted but we can't stay here. That psychopath probably isn't far behind you. No offense but you left a trail a blind man could follow. "

The humor did more than anything to help pull Chiara out of her near hysterical state and she blushed, laughing in spite of herself. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. Weary and sweat soaked as Ziva David was, at the moment she looked like an angel from heaven.

"Where are we?" Chiara managed to ask, scrutinizing the agent in the fading light. With a start she realized that Ziva was bleeding.

"About five miles north west of the cabin, about eight from the road. You ran a good distance. I wasn't expecting you to come this far. "The agent replied sitting back on her heels to return the scrutiny.

"You're hurt." Chiara accused suddenly angry that the agent hadn't pointed it out earlier. Her tone must have surprised the agent because she rocked back and for a moment looked surprised by the accusation. Then slowly she lifted her hand to her temple probing the nasty looking scratch that ran from just beneath one eye back into her hair line. "I must have been hit by a branch. It's nothing to worry about. "She defended glancing at the blood on her fingers and dismissing it.

"You should let me look at it." Chiara argued.

"It's nothing really. I've had much worse trust me. "

"I should still look at it. It could get infected."

"I appreciate that you want to help me but we really don't have time Chiara. We have to keep moving. Unless you want our friend out there to find us." Ziva replied with a slight smile that wasn't lacking in sincerity.

Chiara frowned but relented in the face of the agent's logic. With a sigh and a little help she clambered to her feet leaning on a tree for support as the blood suddenly raced to her head, making the world spin crazily.

"You okay?"

"Vertigo. It'll pass."

Ziva made an agreeing noise and waited until she moved away from the tree to bend down and lift Tony back onto her shoulders.

"How is he?" Chiara asked watching worriedly and noting the pained expression that shot across Tony's face.

"He's alive. For now," Ziva replied shifting his weight to a more comfortable position on her shoulders.

"He'll make it Ziva," Chiara reassured, causing the agent to look up suddenly. For a long moment the other woman scrutinized her then slowly she nodded and even managed a slight smile. "I know he will. He's not allowed to die yet. Gibbs hasn't given him permission."

"Gibbs?"

"Our boss. Come on, lets' get moving," Ziva replied and without another word the group headed further into the woods. This time with Ziva leading, at a much quieter, much slower pace, and thankfully with what appeared to be some sense of direction.

Halsten was livid. He had followed the Jensen woman's trail to a wide broad stream, and then lost it. Apparently the woman was smarter than she looked, or maybe just watched a lot of Discovery channel, because she had been smart enough to use the stream to cover her trail.

It had taken him fifteen minutes to find where the trail had picked back up in the darkness. Night had crept up on him suddenly leaving him blind with the exception of the fickle light of the full moon that slowly filtered through the threes.

Now he moved along their trail carefully, keeping low and quiet, his rifle held ready.

As he walked he contemplated the other two agents who had disappeared into the trees. For a long while he had been worried that they somehow might have circled around behind him and he had gone from being the predator to being prey. The feeling of being stalked had haunted him. For a brief moment he had understood what his targets felt like when he followed them. But then he had found the spot where their trail rejoined with this one.

He had almost missed it. There had been no signs in the scrub itself. The only thing that had clued him in was a few drops of blood caught on the broad side of a leaf. He had to admit the foreign woman was good.

Or at least he assumed it was the foreign woman. The person running with their companion draped over their shoulders had been too small and shapely to be a man.

He had to admire her spunk and tenacity. It took one strong woman to carry a fully grown man several miles through the dense brush and shrubbery, and while running at that. He had to admit he grudgingly respected her for that. And, for the fact that the agent had refused to leave her partner behind even when Halsten was sure he had hit him.

He had seen the spray of blood as his high caliber bullet tore through his chest.

In some aspects he was excited to meet this strange woman. Excited to meet her and break her. The more she defied his perceptions and assumptions the more he wanted to put her in her proper place. The more he wanted to teach her what it meant to be a woman. To be inferior to a man. But not before he learned how she ticked. What she felt. The way she thought. What made her think that she could so audaciously take the role of a man and fill it. What made her think she could defy her natural role in life? That she could actually be something more?

It almost made him laugh.

This woman was a prime example of a strong, intelligent, independent, woman. Women like her were the reason the world was so confused. She was exactly the type of women he wanted to destroy. To break down. To return to her rightful place.

Women should be put away. Kept quiet and demure. Speak only when spoken to and only with permission from the man of the house and should never meet the eyes of the superior sex. They were meant to be sub servant to men. A subspecies. Slaves. Little more than property with little or no worth. Only then could they fill their true role in life. Only then would the world be made right, and balance restored.

She would be a primary example of this. She would be his message to a world of disorder and chaos. His cry of truth. His attempt to fix a world, gone wrong. Through her he would teach them all the true meaning of womanhood. She would be the first.

The grandmother and the mother would follow. His patience was gone. He was tired of waiting. It began today.

They had been walking for a little less than half an hour when Chiara broke the silence. "Where are we going?"

Ziva turned sharply, surprised, nearly dislodging Tony from his perch on her shoulders. "There is a clearing another quarter mile away, we'll go there radio for a medevac." She replied in a near silent whisper,

Getting the hint Chiara lowered her voice somewhat and replied "Do you want me to take him for a while. You must be getting tired."

Truth of the matter was that Ziva was exhausted. Her shoulders ached and were tight with knots that would take a professional massage-therapist a week to work out. She was covered in blood, both her own and Tony's. Mostly Tony's. But worse still she was being hunted by a crazy man with a rifle bent on killing them all for the sake of some vendetta imposed by a group of likeminded sociopaths.

She also doubted that the woman could handle Tony's weight. She only could have been five foot two and a hundred and fifty pounds at most. She was already dwarfed by the backpack she carried. Ziva couldn't imagine her carrying Tony.

But then the woman had proven surprisingly resilient.

"All right…." She finally conceded and carefully set Tony down.

He groaned but otherwise didn't stir.

Within minutes they has made the change, pausing to change his dressings. Ziva was surprised yet again when the stout woman was able not only to bend and pick Tony up, but to lift him onto her shoulders.

Grateful beyond words, Ziva shouldered Chiara's pack and started forward.

"So you've really had worse injuries?" Chiara asked walking closely behind Ziva so that her whisper could be heard,

"Yes. Keep your voice down. Sound carries out here." Ziva replied. She would have preferred silence. But it was clear the woman needed to talk. Needed to fill the stillness. Probably needed to drown out the chaos of her thoughts.

"Like what?" Chiara asked, obediently lowering her voice even further.

"I've been shot…."

"Shot!" Her exclamation was a bit louder than was wise and Ziva hurriedly hushed her eyeing the surrounding trees warily for a long moment.

Thankfully nothing moved and soon they proceeded onward. Still it was a moment or three before Ziva replied.

"Yes. Three times. About a year ago."

"Three times….You're lucky you survived….did it hurt?"

"I don't really remember much. But yes, what I remember did hurt. There is worse pain though. "

"How did you get shot?"

"Saving him." Ziva replied indicating Tony with a slight jerk of her head,

Chiara just stared at her then smiled slowly, softly.

"Is that why he married you?"

"No," Ziva laughed quietly. "No…Tony and I have….shared a connection…since I first left Mossad and joined NCIS…."

"Mossad? Isn't that the Israeli special forces?"

"Yes," Ziva replied biting back a smart remark.

"Wow…. You must be really strong to have been selected as Mossad…."

"I really didn't have much of a choice in the matter," Ziva replied with a bitter smile.

"Why is that?"

Ziva opened her mouth to reply then abruptly stopped and pulled Chiara down, just as a bullet screamed past.

She swore vehemently grabbed Chiara, who grabbed Tony, and ran.

"How'd he find us?" Chiara yelled as they tore through the brush. It was hard running with someone on her shoulders but she didn't complain. Ziva had done it for miles without complaining.

"He's probably been tracking us for miles. Keep moving!" Ziva yelled back pulling her by the arm, helping her to keep going when she stumbled.

"He'll kill us!"

"Only if he catches us, now keep moving!" Ziva yelled propelling her forward through the trees.

Another bullet sliced through the air then another, and another as the man grew more confident in his shooting. These shots also came faster and softer which meant he was using a different kind of gun. This meant he was close.

"Keep running. I'll hold him off, "Ziva yelled pressing the long range radio and a piece of paper into Chiara's hand. She had trouble holding it as she was also clinging to Tony. "It's already set to the proper frequency. When you reach the clearing press the button and speak loudly and clearly into the microphone. Tell them you need an armed medevac a.s.a.p. at the coordinates on the paper." Ziva ordered.

"What about you!" Chiara demanded hesitating.

"Don't worry about me. I'll handle this. You go! "

"No! He'll kill you! I won't leave!"

"Don't argue with me just go!" Ziva yelled pushing Chiara forward just as a bullet thudded right where she had been standing. Chiara stumbled forward; glancing back when another gun rang out. This one crisp and clear in the darkness. Ziva was returning fire. It was all the motivation Chiara needed. She ran for all she was worth.

Halsten was so intensely fixated on following the trail of blood by the fickle moonlight that he almost didn't hear the whispering. When he did he thought he was imagining things. Could they really be so careless? But no he hadn't been imagining. They really were that careless. He grinned wolfishly even as he lifted his rifle.

It took him a minute to find them in the dark. His scope was not equipped with night or thermal vision. But find them he did. He was less than a hundred meters away to their right, a small stand of trees separating them. He couldn't possibly miss.

Then just as he was about to squeeze the trigger something must have happened because the foreign agent suddenly pulled Jensen out of his sights and he missed by less than an inch.

Furious with himself and her he squeezed off two more rounds with the rifle before giving up on it and switching to his pistol.

He was to close for the rifle to be effective anyway.

He tore after them, his long legs eating up the distance as he rapidly gained on them. He had been smart. He had conserved his energy switching from a light jog to walking as he tracked them. Now at the end he was energized while they were not.

He squeezed off round after round in pursuit of them. Gradually narrowing the window between them and him. Bringing his shots closer, and tighter. Soon there would be no missing and he would have his revenge and it would be sweet.

Then abruptly the foreign woman did something else he didn't expect. She sent Jensen and her partner ahead then whirled and started returning fire.

He was forced to skid to a top and dive for cover as the woman fired with tremendous accuracy.

He crouched behind a broad oak tree and slammed a new clip into his pistol, silently cursing this woman and whatever demons had spawned her. He steadied himself and slipped out from behind the tree, sighting where the woman should have been. But she wasn't there.

Momentarily confused Halsten didn't realize she was behind him until it was too late. Her kick came out of know where freeing him of his gun and he whirled only to receive her fist in his face. Stunned and caught off guard he staggered backwards guarding his stomach as she assaulted him with a flurry of blows.

He was quick to regain his footing though and returned the punishment the woman was doling out blow for blow.

She should have used her gun when she had the chance.

"Who are you?" he gasped staggering backward after a particularly nasty exchange of blows, wiping blood away from his lip.

She also wiped blood away glaring at him through the darkness. "You shot my partner," she growled circling him, arms up ready to go.

She was tough and definitely had training. Now that he was close he was able to place a face with the accent, and figured she was Israeli. Mossad if he had to guess. She certainly fought like one.

He had never crossed paths with a member of the elite and secretive branch of the Israeli forces before. But he was looking forward to it.

Grinning he straightened from his half crouch and launched a sudden flurry of blows that drove her back into a tree. He had her trapped there, arms raised and hunched over as she tried to protect both her abdomen, and head as he slammed into her, pounding her like a punching bag. He pulled back his fist about to throw a punch that would crush her skull when she ducked, suddenly, sending his fist into the trunk.

He yelped shaking his hand, sure he had broken at least one finger and spun on the woman throwing a punch out wildly.

She ducked and drove a fist into his rib cage. Hard. She was far from being beaten. He grunted and staggered back only to receive another blow and another as she returned the beating he had just given her with equal voracity.

She advanced on him mercilessly driving him back, driving him to the ground, when his hand found his pistol.

His fingers closed on the muzzle and he brought it up suddenly, slamming the grip into the side of her head. She crumpled and staggered backwards clearly dazed.

He grinned triumphantly as he rose, bloodied and bruised, reversing his grip on the weapon. He pointed the more deadly end right at her chest.

He was about ready to squeeze the trigger and end it when suddenly his radio blared to life. He spun towards it thinking more cops had arrived, momentarily forgetting his more immediate opponent.

"Hello! Can hear me. My name is Chiara Jensen and I need an armed medevac right away! Chiara Jensen's voice screamed through the radio.

The distraction was all that the foreign woman needed. She kicked him in the gonads, taking him to his knees. Swiping the gun free she stumbled slowly to her feet, swaying slightly. Taking out her own gun she steadied herself, sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger.

Burning pain seared through Halsten and he tumbled to the ground reaching vainly for his own gun even as he watched the foreign woman run off.

"What are your coordinates, over" a man's voice replied, calm and professional, but none the less urgent.

"450 South 315 East Douthat State Park, near the Headland trail."

Okay Miss Jensen, sit tight. An armed medevac is on its way. They'll be there in ten minutes."

"Okay! Hurry please! There's a crazy man! He's trying to kill us. He's got a gun! He….he already shot agent DiNozzo….and probably his wife too…." The other woman replied clearly scared out of her wits.

Dimly Halsten made the connection between the man and the woman and stored it in the back of his mind even as he staggered to his knees.

Groaning, and in immense pain, Halsten managed to get to his feet. Blood ran freely down his arm, trickling steadily from his fingertips soaking into the loam at his feet. She had shot him in the chest. That stupid woman had shot him in the chest. Right above the heart.

The shot would have been dead on if Halstens heart was where it was supposed to be. But it wasn't It was just a little to the right and down. More towards the center of his chest then the top left like most people.

Still she had probably done some serious damage.

Wounded and bleeding heavily he leaned on a tree for a moment catching his breath before turning his own commandeered radio to a private frequency.

"Home base this is Sure Shot do you read me?"

"We read you Sure Shot, what radio are you trans-ponding from over?"

"A long range hand held I lifted off a park ranger who got in my way earlier, don't worry its secure."

"Rodger. What's your status Sure Shot?" The receiver finally asked after a long silence.

"I'm hurt. Badly. Those agents they sent are tougher then I gave them credit for. I need an emergency pickup immediately, over."

Another long silence.

"Jensen?"

"Still alive. For now. A temporary setback I assure you. Tell the Grandmother that I'm still on it. But I need medical treatment first."

"Relaying your message now Sure Shot….."

The break in communications seemed to last an eternity as he sat against the tree, one big hand pressed over the hole in his chest. The other chopper had arrived and been on the ground for five minutes before the radio finally crackled back to life.

"A medevac is on its way …..oh and Halsten….. Grandmother says no more mistakes."

"Don't worry there won't be" Halsten spat into the radio staggering away from the tree and towards the clearing; his eyes following the other helicopter as it slowly lifted away.


	8. Life Light

_Summery: A game of cat and mouse turns more and more deadly as Halsten, the man, pursuing them grows more and more determined to have his revenge. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters._

* * *

Ziva sat in the chopper, her head resting back against the bulkhead, watching as a team of emergency medics did everything in their power to save Tony's life.

Everything felt numb and disconnected as she sat there. Only the pain from her fight, and the ringing in her head, remained to tell her that everything she had experienced this day had been real.

That and the blood. It covered her, soaking her clothes, and matted her hair. All of it was Tony's.

She looked away from him unable to bear watching as the medics hooked yet another bag of blood to the already growing IV tree, which had been assembled next to him. Her eyes settled on the other man who had arrived with the chopper. Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. She didn't know how he had known about the chopper much less how he had managed to get on it before it lifted off, nor did she ask. It was enough that he was there.

He met her gaze steadily reaching out he captured one of her hands between his, his grip just as sure as his gaze. "He's going to be okay Zi…" he reassured his voice reassuringly soft. How it managed to cut through the noise of the chopper and the blare of medical jargon coming from the medics, was beyond her. But it did, and he did it without yelling.

She managed a wan smile, ignoring the pain as the effort tugged at her split lip. She'd been lucky. Very lucky. The man had been good. Quite possibly the best she had ever fought. It had been a long time since she had felt this way as a result of a fight.

The medics had tried to treat her too but she'd been adamant that they tend to Tony first. They had insisted on hooking her up to a bag of fluids, and one in particular had refused to leave. It had taken her very best, scary, Mossad, ninja death glare to get the man to back off, but finally he had relented. Somewhat pacified with the fact that she was at least hooked up to an IV. Still he sat at Tony's head holding it between his hands, while the others back-boarded him, casting worried glances in her direction.

She inhaled deeply, ignoring the medic, and tried to suppress a wince as pain flashed through her badly abused ribs. She was sure at least two were broken. She let out the breath in a low hiss ignoring the medic who her shot her a pointed look. Even Gibbs raised an eyebrow, which she also ignored.

"Have you found any leads?" she asked attempting to divert their worry. Gibbs just gave her a look that said he wasn't fooled, even as he smiled faintly at her stubbornness.

"Yeah. Back at HQ," he drawled, patting her hand and releasing it.

"Good, I want to see them."

"You will David, as soon as you get checked out," he replied his tone both amused and no non-sense.

Ziva frowned faintly but didn't argue. She knew better than to argue with the man. She knew she wouldn't set foot in the NCIS building until Gibbs was sure she was okay. That was non-negotiable.

"Did you get an ID on the man that was hunting you?" Gibbs demanded.

Ziva blinked at him, squeezing her eyes shut as she leant her head against the choppers bulkhead. Her skull pounded, from the blow the man had delivered to her head. She knew she probably had a concussion. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but she resisted it powerfully. "Not precisely, no. I can tell you he's tall, and powerful. Very, very powerful. He looked and fought like ex-military. He was at the very least trained. Dark hair….," she muttered, forcing her eyes open, so that she could look at him.

"Did you catch his name? Or did he mention anything about 'The Family'. "

"No. He had an accent though. Thicker than mine. This means he's a more recent arrival. Central, or northern, European: German, Sweden, Denmark, Norwegian…. He could be from any of those places…. He was good Gibbs….Very Good. I haven't fought someone like him since Mossad…." She said angrier with herself than anything else for not getting more information.

"We're lucky we got out of there alive. If it hadn't been for Agent David he would have killed us," Chiara piped up from where she sat next to Gibbs. It was the first time she had spoken since getting on the helicopter. She had up until then sat quietly staring at her hands her eyes distant.

Gibbs glanced at her and smiled slightly, in that fatherly reassuring way of his.

"His rifle was the finest I've seen in a long time. Top notch equipment. One thing is for sure, these people are well funded, and they don't play games…." Ziva remarked eyeing the woman.

Chiara was shaken and haggard. She made an effort to smile at Ziva but the effort failed. With her hair in disarray, branches and leaves sticking out of it and her dirt smudged face; it was hard to believe this was the same elegant, composed woman they had found in the cabin singing Disney songs.

Ziva returned the smile if only slightly. Chiara had been extremely brave today turning the chase. Shouldering the burdens of a wounded agent and buffering the storm with a resiliency that spoke of deep rooted character.

"Don't you worry Mrs. Jensen; we'll find the people who did this to you. We'll find the man who killed your husband," Gibbs murmured, turning towards her.

Ziva listened to their conversation for a moment, but gradually lost interest. Worried and exhausted she let the low rhythmic sounds of the helicopter blades drown out her chaotic thoughts.

The helicopter touched down and Tony was rushed into the hospital, Ziva right behind him. Only threats on the medic's lives saved her from having to ride in a wheelchair. She hurried behind the stretcher until it passed through the double doors leading to the OR where she was stopped by an intimidating looking nurse.

She was led to a side room were her own injuries were tended. An hour later she was given medicines for the pain and told to go home. Something which she had no intention of doing. She walked stiffly into the waiting room and found McGee.

"How are you?" McGee asked scooting over to make room for her on the couch.

"Sore, but alive. Tony?" She replied, sitting down next to him.

"They are operating. No news yet though," he replied turning slightly to look at her. She stared at the far wall, aware of his scrutiny, and not caring.

"Zi…. Are you sure you're okay?" His voice was soft and caring. Gentle. Typical McGee.

"My husband nearly dyed McGee….Could still die…. And, there is nothing I can do about it. I've never felt so helpless in my life…." She said trying hard to maintain control of her voice; her emotions threatening to betray her. Threatening to break through her mask, turning her voice into a fragile, cracked thing. She refused to turn towards him, flinching slightly when he took her hand. She didn't mean to, but she couldn't stop it.

She couldn't believe she had been so stupid. So foolish. She should have known the sniper was waiting. She should have stopped Tony from going out that door. It had been a rookie mistake. A rookie mistake that may have cost the man she loved his life.

"Zi…." McGee started giving her that look. That look that said he was going to try and reason with her. Pick apart her arguments, like he dissected his computers. She was not in the mood to hear it. She freed her hand and held it up a hand anticipating the word he would say, and shook her head.

"No McGee….. No…. I am Mossad and Mossad do not make mistakes. Mistakes mean death where I am from," she spat trying hard to keep her voice from escalating and failing.

Tim waited patiently, listening empathetically, letting her rage, letting her anger spend itself. Finally she trailed off, her jaw tight and looked away.

When she looked back Tim was still looking at her his gaze steady and understanding.

"You wouldn't remember this; it was before your time, but there was a case once where Abby was taken…." McGee began holding her gaze steadily.

At first Ziva tried not to listen, her anger drowned out everything else. But she found she couldn't help being drawn into his story as he told of a time when the team had almost lost Abby. He had never felt so lost or so helpless in his life. All of his technical skill hadn't been able to stop it from happening. In the end Abby had proven to be the wonderful, strong, brilliant woman he had always known her to be. In the end Abby had saved herself. With nothing more than a Taser-gun. McGee had only been able to help.

"I understand Zi….I really do... And trust me when I say that beating yourself up about it isn't going to do any good. Tony is strong. He'll make it through this. The best thing you can do for Tony right now is helping in bringing these guys down…." He murmured quietly.

ZIva sat quietly through it all, just listening, to McGee's story. When he was done she reached up slowly wiped moisture from her cheek. She hadn't realized that she had been crying. She looked at her damp fingertips for a moment, feeling both oddly detached and reassured by McGee's tale. Finally she looked up, her hand dropping away. She smiled at him, a slight tremulous thing, and nodded.

"Thank you McGee…." She murmured quietly.

He just smiled at her. That brief, goofy half smile of his, and moving suddenly, gave her a hug. She stiffened for a moment, uncertain, still slightly unused to such emotion. It didn't help that she tended to revert back to Mossad mode when she was upset. Taking a deep breath that made her ribs twinge, she forced herself to relax, and return Tim's embrace.

They sat for a moment longer then with a finally squeeze, that made Ziva wince they parted; just as a nurse entered the room.

"The family of Anthony DiNozzo!" A nurse called, looking around the near empty waiting room.

Ziva shot to her feet, followed by McGee.

"I'm his wife," Ziva replied walking up to the woman.

The nurse looked up from her clipboard her keen blue eyes passing over Ziva's collection of bruises and cuts, before looking back. "Mrs. Ziva DiNozzo?" she asked, looking up again a hint of skepticism in her professional voice.

Annoyance and anger flashed through her and she had to take a moment to master it before fishing her wallet from the pocket of her cargo pants. She flashed her ID at the woman, the shield she kept pinned there, glinting in the overly bright lights of the waiting room. She wore her main badge at her belt like most federal agents, along with her firearm, but both were currently concealed behind her coat and she was in no mood to incite a panic by showing she had a gun. Besides, the gun would not be necessary to handle the petite woman; who was both smaller and slighter than Ziva herself.

The nurse's eyes widened and she passed her eyes over Ziva's injuries once more, this time with understanding. "Mrs. DiNozzo I'm sorry I just wasn't expecting…." She stammered.

"It's all right. I know I am not the most reactive right now…." Ziva replied will ill feigned patience

"Attractive Zi…." McGee corrected softly, earning himself a dirty look.

The nurse smiled slightly and consulted her clipboard once more. "Your husband is out of operation and is recovering in his room. The doctor is waiting to give you the full details of his diagnosis. You may see him if you like."

Ziva nodded and without another word trailed after the woman, while McGee called to inform Gibbs, who had left with Chiara hours ago.

"The doctor will be in with you in a moment," the nurse murmured after a few moments of walking. She pushed the door open quietly, holding it for Ziva.

Ziva nodded once again as she squeezed by and attempted to smile at the woman; but found it died quickly. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the bed were Tony lay. A tangle of wires and machines were hooked up to the man she loved; they beeped and whirled and hissed like some obscene orchestra. Next to him an IV tree held bags of blood, fluids, and antibiotics.

She walked over to him slowly, her feet carrying her almost automatically to his side. "Tony…." She murmured reaching out to touch him and hesitating.

He seemed so peaceful. Laying there sleeping. His broad chest swathed in bandages, beneath his pink hospital gown.

She nearly laughed at the sight of him in pink. Tony would have had a fit if he knew. Not to mention he hated hospital gowns.

"My little hairy butt, "she murmured, a fond smile lifting the corner of her mouth, as she reached out and took his hand, sinking down in the chair next to his bed.

She was sitting there moving her thumb across the back of his hand in slow circles when the doctor arrived with the full diagnosis.

"Mrs. DiNozzo?" He asked pleasantly.

She nodded and he moved further into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

"It says here that both you and your husband are cops, is that correct?" he asked consulting a clipboard.

"Federal agents," Ziva corrected.

He pursed his lips and nodded, making a notation with his pen. "That would explain why your husband was shot then….. "He murmured.

Ziva said nothing just watched as he scribbled more notes on his clipboard. Finally he looked up after a few moments of consulting his paperwork.

"Now the bullet hit your husband in the upper right hand side of his pectoral muscle about an inch to the right and two inches beneath his clavicle. Now thankfully the wound isn't fatal, the bullet missed his lung by a good few inches. However the bullet was a large caliber and did manage to do some significant damage to his musculature. He should make a full recovery, but he'll need therapy to help him build up strength in the muscle."

"Do you still have the bullet?" Ziva questioned.

The man smiled, seeming pleased she had asked. "Of course. When we suspect criminal activity we always retain the evidence. I have it bagged and I'll have it sent over to your agencies headquarters for analysis. If you would just tell me what agency you represent I'll have it sent over immediately." He said pleasantly.

"NCIS," she replied and gave him the address, instructing him too specifically designate it for Abby's lab.

He wrote this all down, repeating it carefully when he was done. "Thank you Mrs. DiNozzo I'll see that this is taken care of…."

"Thank you."

He nodded, "well if there isn't anything else…." He said starting to back out.

"When will he be able to go home?" she asked stopping him with one foot out the door.

"We'd like to keep him here for the duration of his recovery from the surgery. Keep a close eye on him for a while. But he should be okay to go home in couple of weeks, three at most," he replied looking back at her.

She thanked him and he left, closing the door behind him.

She sat there for a moment her thoughts no longer a confusing jumble. The doctor said he would be fine. Three weeks was at most then a month or so in a sling, than the therapy sessions on top of that. All in all it wasn't that bad and she let out a relieved sigh.

Reassured beyond words she sat back in her chair and let her mind drift. They had been lucky this time. She promised herself right then and there that she would do more to let Tony know how much she loved and appreciated him, every single day.

Staring down at her hands which were interlaced around Tony's she watched the light play off her wedding band. Pulling one hand free she ran her thumb over the familiar, warm metal, and thought of the words inscribed inside. Akshav. Tamid. Tamiyd. Now. Forever. Always, and was even more grateful for the ordinary miracle that happened each day.

Halsten was fuming. He gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the gurney he sat on, and held perfectly still while a nameless doctor worked on him. He had no idea where he was. The medevac had dropped him off at some small clinic somewhere in the middle of no-where. He hadn't even bothered to get the name of the place. He didn't need to know as far as he was concerned. Grandmother would have taken care of everything. This man was either Family, or he was very heavily bribed. Possibly both. None of that mattered though. The only thing that mattered was that he got back out there and found Jensen and those federal agents before they disappeared into the system.

Several blood bags had already been hooked up and tubes ran into his left arm at his elbow replacing the precious blood he had lost. Now the doctor worked on removing the bullet and stitching up the wound. It wouldn't be long now. Soon he would be on his feet and moving.

The doctor said nothing as he worked, which suited Halsten just fine, he preferred the silence. Silence allowed him to think.

The foreign woman, Agent DiNozzo, preoccupied his thoughts in spite of his mission. He knew he had to kill Jensen. He had to kill Jensen if for no other reason than to maintain his position of favor within the family. But DiNozzo was another matter entirely. He wanted her dead. More than dead, he wanted to take her apart piece by piece.

The fact that the Family wanted them dead suited his purposes, nicely. Killing them would only serve to further his position in the family. Through them he would secure a position in the family, and send a message to the world. A message to women everywhere.

Eventually the doctor stepped back, looking over his handy work critically before disappearing into another room briefly. He returned with a bottle full of painkillers and a clipboard. Silently he handed Halsten the pills and the top sheet from the clipboard. On it was typewritten a simple message.

_Finish the job._

Clenching his jaw tightly Halsten crumpled the paper and opening the pills dumped a few into his hand; knocking them down like a shot of whiskey.

The helicopter had headed north, towards Bethesda Naval Hospital. He would start there.


	9. Headway

Summery: The case takes a turn for the best as the team starts to gain ground on the Family

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

* * *

The grandmother sat in her rocking chair, gently sliding back and forth, her thoughts a whirl. She couldn't believe Halsten had failed. He never failed. Ever. That was one reason why she loved her 'son' so much. He never let her down. He always fulfilled his mission, no matter how hard, and he had certainly been given harder missions than this one.

She frowned, caressing her cane and thinking about Jensen. Thinking about how far this had all come. How far it would yet go.

Perhaps Halsten needed backup. Perhaps he needed a little assistance in bringing Jensen in.

She contemplated this, thinking of the men she had ready at her fingertips. She thought of each of their individual skills, as she glided silently back and forth. Some of them would do nicely on this mission. Some of them would be able to help.

Even now those pesky teams of federal investigators were searching the lake where her men had dumped the body of someone who had been opposed to the Family.

"Fetch Jason Johnston," she ordered her crisp voice cutting suddenly through the stillness. She heard someone leave and sat patiently fingering the nob on her cane until finally the man appeared.

He bowed deeply, waiting for her permission before rising. An average man of some merit, he had been valuable before. He wasn't Halsten, not by a long shot, but he was a decent man, and loyal as long as he was paid enough. The Grandmother paid handsomely for his skill. He certainly had his uses. He had proven invaluable as a spy. Working his way into organizations, scooping out things, and learning secrets of the people the family intended to take care of, or put pressure on. But more importantly, he was expendable.

"I want you to go back to the lake were Jensen and the rest dumped that body. Work your way into this team of investigators and find out what they know. Contaminate the evidence if you can. Then find out where they are hiding Jensen.

Rising slowly from her chair, her joint and bones creaking painfully, she shuffled from the room, two armed guards falling in silently behind her.

Gibbs sat at his desk with his head in one hand, looking over the crime scene photos on his desk.

"McGee, can you pull these up? He demanded exhaustion making his voice more sharp then he had intended it to be.

The techie, looking just as exhausted, nodded and with a few key strokes had the images displayed on the large plasma screen that decorated the wall of his bull-pen.

Standing wearily, Gibbs moved to get a better look at the images displayed on the luminous screen.

The photos were of a beat up, but none the less expensive looking, Mercedes Benz that was being pulled out of a lake. The chrome surface had been crushed by a crash, presumably with the other car that had pushed it, sidelong into the water.

The next picture showed the body of a man in an expensive Armani suit that they had found inside the car. The man's name was Kiel, and he was a Congressmen. His hands hand been tapped to the steering wheel. According to Ducky, however, the tape was mostly for effect. He had been dead long before the car had hit the water. Besides the single carefully placed bullet hole in the center of his forehead – professional work according to Ziva – the man had been brutally beaten, then branded, like Jensen, before being dumped into the lake. He clearly was meant to be a warning message to any who opposed the Family.

"Hold it there McGee…. Back it up a little," Gibbs said when the image changed again. This shot was another of the car as it was being pulled from the water. Half a dozen federal agents milled about snapping pictures, or searching the perimeter for evidence.

"Zoom in there," Gibbs said pointing to a cluster of agents, standing off to the side.

McGee obediently did so, closing in on one man in particular. One man who didn't fit. One man who Gibbs did not recognize.

"Can you clear this up McGee?" He asked indicating the man he wanted, whose face was lost in a blur of digitized pixels.

A few key stroke later and the image enhanced, clearing up significantly, revealing the man in almost crystal clear detail.

The man was of average height and build, with just a hint of a beer belly. Average features were off set by clear, deep set, blue eyes that cut a raking glare from beneath bushy, eyebrows. A dark, thick, beard covered the lower half of the man's face, completing the picture, and hiding his jawline from the world. He stood casually, even a tad bit sloppily, and not with the alertness Gibbs expected from an investigator on a crime scene.

"Call Ziva…." Gibbs ordered looking over his shoulder, half expecting the agent to already be there, only to remember that she was on duty, protecting Chiara. After making sure that she wasn't wounded, and debriefing her within the relative safety of the NCIS building they had taken the exhausted and grieving woman to a safe house in the middle of the woods, some miles from the city. There she could get some rest, grieve in peace and most importantly she would be safe. Especially with a constant guard assigned to protect her at all times.

A short phone call later and McGee had Ziva on the phone. He read the description of the man to her even as he emailed a picture to her phone.

"That's not him. That's not the man I fought in the woods." her voice floated over the open air, after a long moment.

Gibbs let out an explosive breath running his hands thorough his hair, turning away from the display. It was a minute before he turned back. McGee watched him anxiously as he lifted the phone to his ear and continued his conversation.

"Have you ever seen him before?" He asked, probably a bit more harshly than was necessary.

"No. I'm sorry; I've never seen this man before." She replied, without missing a beat. "He could be from another agency perhaps," she suggested.

"No. I would know him. No… he might be a plant from the family…."

"A spy boss?" McGee interrupted, following the conversation, alertly.

Gibbs just nodded.

"If he's a spy then we can use him to find out information about the family." Ziva piped up.

"I know that. We just have to have a reason to question him…" Gibbs replied, thoughtfully.

"You could always leak information to him. Or have him followed. Following him would be less dangerous, and may prove useful, later. "Ziva suggested.

Gibbs nodded, than remembering she couldn't see him made an agreeing noise, his eyes narrowing as he thought carefully about his next step.

"I'll run this through the databases; see if we can find any matches on our shooter…" McGee volunteered. "We may just get lucky." Tim said, turning towards his computer and typing rapidly

A few minutes later the computer pinged and an official looking document popped up next to a picture of the man with the beard. It wasn't a criminal record however. It was a service record from the DEA.

"Here we go boss. Our man is Jason Johnston. Former DEA agent, he was released from duty when he got greedy and was caught accepting bribes, and trafficking under the table. He served his time in GITMO and after that, disappeared. Nothing since then would be grounds enough for bringing him in and questioning him."

"The Family probably found him and recruited him. They seem to like these former military men. Probably, because of their training." Ziva suggested, her voice coming from the phone and filling the dead space efficiently, as Gibbs carefully weighed his options.

"How long have you been on duty, David?" Gibbs demanded suddenly.

"An hour. Maybe a bit more than that," she replied.

"Okay. McGee, go home get some sleep. Ziva you stay put until I get there. I'll take over guarding Jensen. I want you to follow Johnston. Find out where he's going and who he reports to." Gibbs ordered.

"I'll handle it," she replied, with the familiar confidence he had come to expect from her.

"Good, I'll be there in an hour," Gibbs replied and clicked the phone shut, effectively ending the call.

"Abby has the result you wanted from the vehicle. She's in her lab," McGee said looking down as his computer pinging once again, and an email appeared from the forensic scientist.

By the time he looked back up Gibbs had disappeared, leaving him alone in the bull-pen.

"What've ya got for me Ab's? " Gibbs asked striding into the lab.

"What've I got? I'll tell you what I've got! I've got a massive headache is what I've got! Major Mass Spec and the others are on the verge of an all-out mutiny because of all the work they've had to do. And, we can't afford to have an insurrection! Oh and I'm out of CAF POW!" The clearly harried and sleep deprived forensic scientist rattled off at machinegun staccato pace as she stormed over to stand in front of him her normally neatly kept black hair, slightly awry; probably from running her fingers through it.

Gibbs blinked at her and pressed a fresh, extra-large Caf-Pow into her hands as compensation.

She snatched it and took a long slurp, seeming only slightly pacified, then turned and slammed the drink down on her work table. With a few key strokes she brought up a finger print display.

"First of all we have this…."

"Whose is it?" Gibbs demanded receiving a glare that almost made him step back. Almost.

"It's rude to interrupt, you know Gibbs. Especially when I'm this tired."

He held up his hands and backed off.

"Now as I was saying…. Apparently one of our assailants' got sloppy and actually touched the window of the congressman's car. I almost missed it completely when I was going over the car. But the light hit it just right and I found it." She said with a broad smile, pride evident in her voice.

"It belongs to a man by the name of Kevin Tellinger…." She continued, bringing up a mug shot of the man.

"Now before you ask I already ran a check on him. We may not have heard of the Family until now but we certainly have heard of him. He has a rap sheet a mile long. Armed robbery, assault, drugs. You name it Tellinger has done it." She explained bringing up the man's criminal record. Then, holding up a hand, she stopped him before he could interrupt or leave.

Gibbs shifted his weight impatiently; eager to make some headway on the difficult case, but waited obediently, silently thanking all the powers above that he had such good people on his team.

"Now…. I know what you're thinking… 'Let's go bring him in for questioning.' But, sadly, Tellinger was reported missing a week and a half ago by his mother. Two days later his body was found dumped in the bushes of some city park. Local LEO'S did the autopsy. Get this Gibbs…. He died from a rare strand of modified Ebola, common only in the most remote parts of Western Africa." She paused to catch her breath, turning to look at the man who was like a father to her as he looked over all her hard work.

"How'd he get it Ab's" He asked moving so that he could look at the larger display on her wall.

"That's the thing Gibbs…. They don't know…." She replied looking away from his penetrating gaze.

Gibbs nodded, thoughtfully " good work Ab's," he said and moved to leave, than rethinking things he turned back and kissed her temple gently, extracting grin from the woman who was like his daughter.

"Get the body Ab's" He ordered, striding purposefully out the door.

Exactly one hour later Gibbs's car pulled up in front of the safe house. Predawn light was just starting to color the horizon as dawn rapidly crept up on the world.

Ziva peered out between the blinds, watching as her boss got out of the car and headed up the gravel walk way.

Three knocks a pause, another knock, a final pause and five more knocks and she opened the door, looking into his exhausted eyes for a moment before stepping aside to let him in.

"Jensen?" he asked setting down a fresh flat of coffee before handing her a cup. She took it thankfully, closing the door and locking it.

"Still sleeping," she replied quietly, nodding towards the back room. The door was slightly open so that Ziva would always be able to see Jensen and wouldn't have any doors in her way if something should happen.

Gibbs nodded once and shifted slightly, so he could hand her a folder. She hesitated, searching his face with concern, before opening the file and looking at the pictures it contained. He didn't say anything but Ziva could see the weariness in his eyes. He had probably already pulled a double shift, and now was taking her place for a third.

"Are you sure you want me to do this Gibbs? I could pull a double, watch Jensen, than go and follow this man when McGee comes to replace me…." She ventured, carefully.

Gibbs just leveled her with one of his no non-sense glares, but softened slightly when he saw the genuine concern in his agents face. "I'll be fine David. I don't want to miss this window of opportunity to catch these guys, while we still have a chance to do so." He said, both direct and gentle.

Ziva just nodded, accepting this and didn't push him any further.

"Good luck" Gibbs called watching her as she gathered her things and headed out.

She paused, turning in the door, and looked back at him, smiling slightly. "I've got this," she reassured and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

Gibbs stood looking at the door momentarily, thinking about his agent and all she had been through recently.

Just a year and a half ago she had been wounded so badly that there had been a question about whether she would live. Now her husband had been shot and was lying in a hospital bed. She should be by his side, not out on the field risking her life while Tony recovered.

But she never missed a beat. Never asked for sympathy or pity. She would spend her mornings guarding Jensen, her afternoons working on the case and her evenings in the hospital by his side. Far too often he would find her with her head lying on the side of his bed, fast asleep, ad snoring loudly.

He would wake her up and send her home only to find her in the exact same spot a few nights later.

Smiling he shook his head and sat down on the couch, picking up a coffee before flicking on the television set.

If anyone could find out who Jason Johnston reported too it was Ziva.


	10. Check

Summary: The team continues to hone in on the family. Taking drastic action the family fights back.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

A/N: Hello, hello, welcome back! I do apologize for the wait. Its currently Midterms in my part of the world and life had been crazy! On that note enjoy!

* * *

Following the man was tricky. He was by far one of the most difficult people Ziva had ever had to shadow. He was cautious about everything he did. He never once mentioned The Family or acted in any way different from what a Federal Agent should act like. He never led her back to his base or personally contacted his boss. He always worked through handlers to make his reports. Ziva had been forced to choose between following him and risking evidence or following his handlers and finding the source of the man's orders. In the end she chose to follow him, and in the end he made a mistake.

She watched him from the shadows of a stairwell as he approached the evidence locker and produced a false order to procure some false evidence they had planted there. A few seconds later the evidence technician returned with a large plastic baggie containing a roll of duct tape, and a few finger prints. Nothing that the man would suspect was false evidence.

The man glanced at it than, tucking the baggie into his coat, turned and walked unhurriedly back towards the bull pen. He was good. Nothing about his behavior suggested he was suspect. She ducked her head shrinking into the shadows as he walked past and calmly headed up to the bull pen.

She waited a few beats than followed him carrying her own empty evidence bag. He was sitting at his supposed desk when she emerged from the stairwell, plunking away at his keyboard and sipping break-room coffee. He was very good.

Finally at the end of the shift he made his move. Rising from his desk he stretched and put on his coat than left the building, merging comfortably with a number of other agents who were also heading home. She watched him from the window as he headed out of the building. It wasn't until he had climbed into his car, and started the ignition that she dared follow him.

Climbing into an unmarked, suburban she waited and watched while he sat in the idling car and smoked a cigarette. The spy was probably making sure that no one followed him. He was exceptionally good and for a minute Ziva worried that he might be on to her. But if he knew, he showed no signs of it,

Finally after a few long agonizing moments he left, and eventually she eased out into traffic and followed him. He drove at a moderate speed, not harried or worried, just a man eager to get home from work; nothing suspicious, except he had the bag of fake evidence in his coat pocket. He could have been anyone. But they knew he was a spy.

She followed him through the city's streets as he wove an intricate path between the high-rises and businesses, into the more rundown and seedy parts of town. He was probably going to meet with of his contacts and hand over the evidence bag. A few seconds later he pulled into the graffiti covered parking lot of a run down and questionable looking pool hall.

"Gibbs. We've got Johnston. He picked up the false evidence and is about to hand it over to his contact," Ziva reported dialing her boss and watching from across the street.

"Bring 'em in" Gibbs replied curtly and ended the phone call.

Ziva looked over at her empty passenger seat, than at the two men talking in the parking lot. She probably should have brought back up. But tailing someone was hard enough with one person much less two. Johnston had been tricky enough to follow and catch. It was a miracle that after almost two weeks of following him he had finally made a critical slip up.

She paused briefly to look at the picture of her husband which she kept in her wallet, tucked behind her badge, than drawing a deep breath she headed across the street. She kept her gait casual as she approached the two men and it was a minute before they noticed her. By the time they did it was too late. She was to close.

In a flash she had her weapon out and trained on the two men. "Freeze NCIS, put your hands in the air!" she ordered sharply.

Johnston's handler was the first to react. He reached for a gun tucked in the waistline of his pants, even as Johnston wheeled around, his eyes wide.

Without hesitation Ziva fired a single round right next to the handlers head. He froze staring at her with wide eyes. "Unless you want to die this day, you'll put the gun on the ground." She snapped, stopping a few feet short of the men.

They looked at each other than at her and slowly the handler bent down and set his pistol on the floor. Johnston followed suit, both men kicking their weapons towards her, and raising their hands to shoulder height.

"You! On your knees! Cross your ankles" She ordered, nudging her chin towards Johnston. He hesitated, but obediently sank down, his cutting gaze settling unnervingly on her face.

"You! Handcuff him!" She ordered, tossing her spare pair of cuffs towards the handler, who was still standing. He hesitated, his eyes flicking around, looking for an escape route before slowly bending down to retrieve the cuffs.

He had closed the first cuff around Johnston's wrist when the first shot rang out, taking the handler through the head. He crumpled to the ground even as another shot rang out barely missing Johnston, who was swearing and yelling at the man to stop firing.

Cursing, Ziva dove for cover behind Johnston's vehicle and scanned the rooftops for the shooter.

It had been a high-powered rifle that had made the shots, the sound had been unmistakable. This was the same shooter that had nearly taken Tony from her.

Cursing herself a fool, she rose and ran in a low crouch to Johnston's side. He looked at her, his eyes wide, shaking his head and blubbering like an idiot. She slapped him hard, and he blinked at her momentarily caught off guard. "If you want to get out of here alive, you'll do exactly as I say!" she snapped, sternly. He nodded stupidly, in too much shock to think. One thing was clear however. He did not want to die. Thinking quickly, she reached into his pocket and found the keys to the car.

"Get in!" She yelled opening the door and shoving him roughly into the cab even as two more shots rang out. One ricocheted of the metal door, passing so close to her neck that she could feel the heat from the casing. Ducking behind the door she returned fire on the place she thought the shots were coming from.

Johnston dove into the car, sliding behind the driver's seat and started the engine pausing briefly to look at her before peeling out of the parking lot.

Swearing Ziva grabbed onto edge of the car door and pulled her-self into the cab even as he whipped out onto the main road.

Shots rang out after them, splintering the rear window and flying through the cab as they wove through traffic. One of them hit Johnston in the shoulder. He jerked the steering wheel and nearly lost control. But Ziva was quick to grab it and regained control before they collided with the car next to them.

"I'm shot! Is that blood! "Johnston blubbered gripping his shirt as Ziva tried to control the car one handed.

"Yes! Now will you please drive?" Ziva yelled jerking the steering wheel to avoid a car.

"I'm dead! I'm going to die!" He moaned oblivious.

"We both are if you don't get your act together!" Ziva snapped.

He lifted his hands, coated with blood, his eyes wide, than promptly passed out.

Cursing a red streak, Ziva yanked him out of the way, and holstering her weapon took the wheel with both hands and did her best to keep control. He was too heavy for her to lift bodily from the seat, especially at the angle she was at, and so she did the best she could, to keep them from crashing, weaving in and out of traffic in complete disregard to traffic signals. All the while she tried everything she knew to wake Johnston up, but the man wouldn't be stirred.

Thankfully the sniper had stopped shooting at them; otherwise they both would have been dead.

As it was she had no way to stop the car. Swallowing she jerked the wheel, taking the car off the road and across the lawn of a local park. With no other choice before her she did the only thing she could think to do. She angled the car towards the shallow water pond, and braced for impact.

She had just closed her eyes and was thinking of Tony when shots of a different kind rang out, taking the tires of the car. Her eyes snapped open as the car fishtailed and span, turning broadside to the water. They nearly rolled. It was a minor miracle that they didn't. Finally, gratefully, they shuddered to a stop, the water just a few inches away.

Breathing out a sigh of relief Ziva quickly ducked out of the car bringing her pistol up to sweep the area even as McGee and Gibbs ran up to the, weapons drawn. Gibbs had been the one to shoot out the tires.

"You okay David?" he demanded holstering his weapon as he ran up next to her.

She nodded "Johnston's been hit, he's in the car. It was the sniper Gibbs. The same one that shot Tony." She gasped gesturing towards the ruined vehicle.

Gibbs nodded, "McGee, get an ambulance here, now. I want a search chopper in the air as soon as they can. Tell local LEO's to sweep everything within a two mile radius of this park. I want any ordinance they find. We need to get these two out of the open, now," Gibbs ordered.

McGee nodded and walked away, already making calls. While Gibbs made sure that Johnston was still alive and secure.

A few minutes later an ambulance pulled up and took over Johnston's extraction from the vehicle and care. Before long he was strapped to a gurney and on his way to Bethesda. The wound was in the end superficial. The bullet had grazed him. The sight of so much blood had caused him to go into shock but in the end he would be fine and would be more than able to give them the information they needed about the family.

The family had made a huge mistake in sending him.

Ziva was busy telling the local LEO's everything she could about the sniper and was helping set up the search when Gibbs returned to her side. "You sure you're okay?" he asked quiet but not condescending.

Truth be told she was a little shaken, but she wasn't about ready to tell him that. "I will be fine Gibbs. How is Johnston," she replied trying hard to seem strong.

He wasn't fooled. He could tell she was shaken. But he didn't push her. He didn't offer her sympathy. He knew better. Sympathy was the last thing Ziva David wanted at the moment.

"He'll be fine. It was a superficial wound. He should be good to testify on Monday and this will all finally be over." He replied.

She just nodded, taking that in, but her thoughts were in other places. The sniper had been following her and she hadn't even noticed. She should be dead. If it had been Mossad following her, she would have been. She was lucky and she knew it. But like a cat with nine lives' she felt like she was rapidly running out of luck.

"Go home David. Get some rest. Take tomorrow off, and spend time with your husband. You can return to work when you're able to think straight." Gibbs ordered.

She looked at him sharply, her eyes narrowing and her lips parting to protest. But Gibbs just fixed her with that glare of his. That glare that said he would not be moved.

For a full five minutes the two strong willed agents stared each other down than finally Ziva nodded accepting his offer, and accepting his kindness. She would go home and take what time she had left.

Halsten was furious. Twice now that ignorant, foolish, self-entitled, lesser woman had managed to escape him. Twice now she had defied him and beat him at his own game. She had gotten away. She had survived.

He gritted his teeth, watching as they drove away, knowing full well what this meant. It meant he had failed Johnston would sell them out and he would be punished for his failure. The family would be taken down from the inside out.

Way he saw it he had two choices. The first was to go and tell the Grandmother that her man had been taken and give her a chance to escape. Saving her life may allow him to keep his. Or option two was to wait until the Family was under siege. Then return, the faithful heroic, son, to save the life of the woman who had save him. He'd get her to give him authority over the family, than kill her and say she was killed in the fighting. Than once all the media attention blew over he would pick up the scraps of the Family's underground empire and build again. He would start over on a new more aggressive policy. He would be the new, young, charismatic face for the Family. He would have what he always dreamed of. Power, pride and prominence.

As for Chiara Jensen? Well he'd track her down eventually and kill her. For no other reason than to spit in the faces of the law enforcement that had tried so hard to save her.

He smiled slightly at thought of doling out his own form of justice. Than standing he disappeared into the shadows to wait and watch the fall of the family.


	11. Morphine

Summery: Halsten takes action against NCIS

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS

* * *

Halsten wasn't one to sit and wait. He couldn't stand being idol. So while he talked and thought and dreamt of waiting for the coming storm to blow over the simple reality was he couldn't just sit idly by and wait. Patience in his mind was a virtue of fools. It was better to take action.

In the end he really didn't care about the Grandmothers petty grudge against Jensen. Her thirst for revenge and impatience would destroy her. In that they were very similar. But Halsten was different in at least one aspect. He knew how to cover his trail. So while their end goal may be similar the methods of reaching it were different. He rather enjoyed putting his personal touch on things. Instead of sending someone else to do the dirty work for him, he did it himself. There was less room for mistakes that way. Because, as the Grandmother was rapidly learning, to trust someone was to allow room for weakness, it was to expose oneself to chance and risk mistakes. Risk, failure. Threat of punishment was powerful incentive for most people. But unfortunately the mere threat wasn't enough to protect her from human stupidity. There would always be errors when other people become your hands, and ears, and eyes; when you let someone do your work for you. He vowed right then and there that he would never be so foolhardy. That he would never let other people be responsible for his failures or his victories. That way when he took the reins and ruled the Family, if he fell, it would be no one's fault but his own and he would only have himself to blame. But he wasn't worried about that, because he never made mistakes.

He sat on the rooftop of a building across the way from Bethesda and watched as Johnston was wheeled into his room. The man may have been captured, and may have already told the fed's what he knew about the Family. If he had it would mean a sure end to the secret organization. But in the end what Johnston had done and what he had said matter little to Halsten. He represented a threat to Halsten's dream of power. As such he was a loose end, and loose ends needed to be tied up. More importantly than that though was the reward Halsten would gain from killing him.

Halsten had doubted at first, doubted that killing Johnston would benefit him. However after some reflection he had concluded that it would be worth it. Killing Johnston would toe up a loose end for the Family and put them in his debt. It would remind them who they could trust. Even though they couldn't trust him at all.

Conveniently enough, Agent Ziva DiNozzo husband was also located at Bethesda. He represented a very convenient opportunity for Halsten. He could eliminate Johnston and DiNozzo in one fatal run. He could kill two birds with one stone and have his revenge on Ziva DiNozzo at the same time. Now, was a perfect time for him to strike. Neither man had visitors, and was the hospital itself was rather quiet. It would be easy picking. Tony DiNozzo would serve as his message to the Family and to the world that he was serious. That he would no longer be subservient. That he was powerful, and capable and dangerous.

In theory he could have picked them off from where he sat. He had a clear view into both rooms from where he was positioned and he had the high-powered rifle with him. It would have been an easy shot for a man of his caliber in marksmanship. But he wanted to put a personal touch on this one.

Standing he slid his rifle behind and air duct on top of the roof and, checking to make sure his silencer was on, slid his pistol into his shoulder holster. It was risky bringing the weapon into Bethesda, but as a rule he never went anywhere without his pistol. It was an extension of him, a part of him and his primary weapon. Leaving it behind was unthinkable.

With his weapons secure and hidden beneath zip up hoodie he made his way down towards the hospital.

* * *

Ziva was tired, in fact she couldn't remember the last time she had been this tired. The case that had started with the investigation of the death of Jacob Jensen had spiraled out of control. It had turned into an all-out war against The Family and the Family certainly wasn't pulling any punches.

Thankfully now they had Johnston who was more than willing to tell them all he knew for the right price. That price had been his life. Johnston would walk away from this a free man in return for his testimony, a written statement, and all the knowledge he had about the family. He had gotten a pretty good deal.

Sighing she pushed the thoughts of the case away and resolved to enjoy the few hours she had off. She was going to visit her husband who was due to come home from the hospital sometime next week. Maybe once he came home, his constant complaints about the hospital food and attempts to convince her to bring him contraband from the outside world, would stop. But then maybe that was just wishful thinking. Smiling in site of herself she pulled into a Krispy Kreme to pick up his favorite donuts and coffee.

* * *

Officer Purcell yawned sleepily watching his partner as she paced the hallway outside the hospital room vigilantly. Her diligence and enthusiasm for her job annoyed him. She made him look bad to the higher ups. He was senior officer for heaven's sake he should be up and pacing and she should be lounging in the single chair provided them. However the situation was reversed he was slumped in the chair and bored out of his skull and she was doing her job.

"Sit down Dawson your wearing me out with your back and forth and back and forth…." he quipped, annoyed.

She glanced at him, hesitated then resumed pacing, meeting a male nurse as he turned into the hall with a lunch cart. He shrugged and closed his eyes quite happy to nap while she worked.

"Hold it. This is a restricted area" she commanded authoritatively, holding up a hand to stop him.

The man froze, looking from her to him in open confusion, "I have to bring the patients their lunch," the man replied finally his voice thick with a foreign accent.

"We'll take it from here….' Dawson said grabbing the cart. The man stiffened and tightened his grip resisting her when she tried to take the cart from him.

"No you do not understand. I must do it. It is my job." He argued looking terrified at the idea of her taking his cart away from him.

"Please release the cart sir," she replied adopting her more authoritative cop voice that she used when about ready to make an arrest.

Annoyed with the commotion that was interrupting his siesta Purcell cracked open one eye, so he could glare at the two of them. "Got any coffee on that cart?" he demanded obnoxiously.

"Coffee? Yes, why?" The foreign nurse replied still holding firmly to the cart.

"Let 'im pass Dawson" Purcell replied not bothering to explain himself.

"But sir…" she argued looking torn.

"I said let 'im pass….Unless you want t' be stuck behind a desk for the rest of your career…." He grumbled, anger and annoyance coloring his tone.

She hesitated for half a beat than reluctantly released the cart and stepped aside so the man could pass.

Slowly he wheeled the cart past watching her warily until he pulled abreast of the door.

"Hold it." Purcell snapped stopping him cold just as he was about to push the door open.

Pushing himself up Purcell reached over and lifted the tray cover, taking the coffee, cream and sugar, before carefully setting the lid back down.

"Go ahead" he said sitting back down.

The man opened his mouth to argue but at Purcell's warning look thought better of it and pushing the door open proceeded into the room. His partner was right behind him, pausing briefly next to Purcell long enough to fix him with a withering glare and say "I'm putting in to change trainers. Even working in evidence would be better than being partner with you." Than without waiting to hear his response, she followed after the man into the room.

Stupid, overly enthusiastic junior officers always made older more experienced cops like him look bad. Well if she wanted to transfer that was fine with him as long as he didn't have to put up with her anymore. With a sigh he sank back into his chair and took a contented sip of his coffee.

Halsten couldn't believe it had been so easy to slip past the cops guarding Johnston's room. The fat lazy one in the chair had been almost laughable. The woman on the other hand, young, green, and clearly inexperienced would be more of a problem. She at least was vigilant in her duty. She stood by the door, watching him warily hands loose and ready by her side as he pushed the cart over to Johnston's bed. Thankfully the man was asleep or he may have alerted the guards to Halsten's true identity. Still he took his time wanting to keep up the ruse as long as possible. Still the female cop didn't leave. What a shame, she would have made a good officer.

With the food properly transfer and set up he moved towards the IV tree next to Johnston's bed. With a few deft movements he adjusted the flow of Morphine into his system, increasing it dramatically. He increased it enough to stop the man's heart.

"What are you doing?" the officer demanded, crossing the room in two strides and resting a hand on his shoulder.

That was her first mistake. Halsten reached up and grabbed her hand, pinning it to his shoulder he spun and in a few rapid movements snapped her arm. She opened her mouth to scream in pain but Halsten was faster, he dropped her now useless arm, stepped in and slammed his hand against her throat, cutting off the scream and effectively breaking her trachea. She opened her mouth ineffectively, trying to make some kind of noise, staggering backwards until her knees bumped into Johnston's bed. She glanced back her eyes wide with alarm; another foolish mistake. By the time she looked back Halsten had closed the distance with her, using her imbalance against her he pulled her around into a sleeper hold and calmly waited for her struggling to stop. It didn't take long. She was already half dead when he had come up behind her anyway. She wouldn't have lived much longer with the damage to her trachea.

She slumped against him, now nothing more than dead weight. He dragged her into the attached bathroom and dumped her in the shower, than turned on the water. The water would help erase any traces he may have inadvertently left behind on the officer. It was a pity her uniform was getting wet. Reaching down he reverently closed her eyes with the backs of his knuckles, she at least deserved that much respect. Unlike her partner who was probably snoring in the chair outside the door. At least she had tried to do her job.

The moment passed and he headed back into the main room, being careful to lock the bathroom door beforehand. That and the sound of the water running would serve as deterrents to anyone who came looking for her; at least for a little while.

Purposeful and business like now, Halsten walked over to Jacobsen and checked his pulse. He was already gone. The Morphine had stopped his heart. Satisfied his task was complete he wiped down the tray of food and equipment with an alcoholic prep pad he had acquired from one of the operating rooms. Pushing the cart, which concealed his pistol, he headed towards his next target. The other officer in the chair didn't even bother to look up. He didn't question his missing partner. He just sat, long legs stretched out into the hall, sipping his coffee and reading a sports magazine.

* * *

Tony was sitting up in bed, idly flipping through the channels of the small TV fixed in the corner of his room, when the male nurse entered pushing the lunch cart.

"Hello Mr. DiNozzo," he greeted his thick accent doing little to hide the fact that he wasn't actually happy to see Tony.

"Hello Mr. Glorified-Bedpan-Changer… or do you prefer Mr. Scrubs instead?" Tony quipped, with good natured humor. Something about the man set off warning bells but he wasn't sure what. The nurse looked familiar somehow but for some reason Tony couldn't place where he had seen him before.

The man did not look amused. In fact he fixed Tony with an icy stare that could have sunk the Titanic. Tony swallowed nervously, giving the guy a once over. He was certainly intimidating for a nurse, the scrubs doing little to hide the swell of his muscles or the tightly coiled power with which he held himself. Tony swallowed wondering vaguely if they now hired nurses based on their ability to bench press cows. Because this guy certainly looked like he would qualify.

"What happened to Jessica, the other nurse? She was cute…. Listen if this is about the compliment I gave her, you should know, I meant nothing by it….in fact I'm married…." Tony stammered his unease growing as the man approached the side of his bed with the cart. Something about the way he moved and the intensity of his gaze warned him that the man was dangerous.

"You didn't happen to play for the Wildcats did you? Listen if I ever stole a shot from you in basketball I'm really sorry. But it was just a game man…." Tony continued trying to get the man to talk, trying to figure out why he looked so familiar.

The man said nothing he just worked silently and efficiently setting up Tony's food for him.

"Oh I get it…This is about my old pop's huh? Old man probably owes you money. He was in Cabo San Lucas last time I spoke to him…."

Still the nurse said nothing and his movements were now so precise and calculated that Tony had no doubt this man was not what he seemed to be. He walked around Tony's bed towards the machines that slowly fed antibiotics, vitamins, and painkillers into his system and started messing with the settings. That was when it hit him. That was when he remembered who the man was. Seen from a state of half-consciousness, delirious from blood loss, and pain it had taken him a minute to remember. Now it was hard to believe that he had ever forgotten. This man was the same man that had attempted to kill Chiara Jensen and his wife. This was the same man that they had run from for over five miles. This was the same man that had shot him.

"I know who you are now." Tony said softly. He could already feel the effects of whatever the man was doing to him.

The man didn't even bother looking at him, he just kept pushing buttons. He was increasing Tony's Morphine and disengaging his heart monitor. It would take them hours before they found out he was dead. Summoning his strength against the effects of the drug he reached over, attempting to pull the IV out.

The man turned and seeing what Tony was trying to do he clamped down hard on his hand, stopping him, just as the needle was coming lose.

"Now…now Mr. DiNozzo, none of that…." He chided quietly and almost gently returned Tony's hand to his stomach.

Tony didn't have the strength to respond. It was hard enough to keep his eyes open, and it was growing more and more difficult to breath.

"Sleep Anthony DiNozzo….your wife will join you soon." The man reassured gently and using a cloth he forced Tony's eyes closed.

The last thought Tony had before he passed out was of his wife.


End file.
